Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9TF81JD1WJ6R4G4BRR8SY

The warehouse smelled like old cardboard and Bill's cologne, which he insisted was called "Midnight Thunder" but smelled suspiciously like gas station cinnamon sticks. Molly spread the blueprints across a wobbly table, careful not to spill her coffee on what had taken her three days to steal from a birthday planning website. "So," Bill said, squinting at the papers like they were written in ancient Sumerian, "we're robbing a seven-year-old's birthday party." "We're liberating presents from a seven-year-old's birthday party," Molly corrected. "There's a difference." "Is there?" "Yes. One sounds like we're monsters, and the other sounds like we're Robin Hood." Bill scratched his beard, which he'd grown specifically for this job because he thought it made him look "less recognizable," though it mostly made him look like a confused lumberjack. "Robin Hood didn't steal Nintendo Switches from children, Molly." "Robin Hood didn't have my rent due Friday either." She tapped the blueprint's largest room, a rectangle labeled "BOUNCE HOUSE ZONE - DO NOT ENTER WITH SHOES." "The presents will be stacked here, by the cake table. Forty-three kids, one inflatable castle, and a clown named Zippy who's actually an off-duty accountant." "How do you know all this?" "I infiltrated the group chat." "There's a group chat for seven-year-olds?" "For their mothers. It's terrifying, Bill. They coordinate snacks with military precision." Bill leaned back, chair creaking dangerously. "What's our cover?" "You're the balloon guy." "I don't know how to make balloon animals." "Nobody does, Bill. That's the beauty of it. You just twist things until a child cries, and everyone assumes it's art." "And you?" "Face painting." Molly held up a small kit she'd lifted from a craft store, price tag still dangling. "I watched exactly one YouTube tutorial." "One?" "It was eleven minutes long. I know things now." Bill stood, pacing in the tight space between crates. "This feels wrong. Aren't we supposed to be, I don't know, sophisticated criminals? Jewel thieves? Bank robbers?" "Bill, we tried the bank thing. You forgot the getaway car had a manual transmission." "That was one time—" "You stalled in the vault doorway for four minutes. The security guard offered you driving lessons." He winced. "Fine. Fair." "This is simple. We get in, we do our little jobs, and while everyone's distracted by cake and Zippy's inevitable breakdown, we load the presents into the rented minivan." "We rented a minivan?" "It has a Blue's Clues sticker on it. Very inconspicuous." Bill grabbed his balloon pump, testing it with a squeeze that produced a sound like a dying goose. "And if we get caught?" Molly smiled, tucking the blueprints into her bag. "We're adults at a children's party, Bill. Worst case, they just think we're weird." "We ARE weird." "Exactly. Perfect cover." He sighed, slinging the balloon bag over his shoulder like it weighed as much as his dignity. "For the record, I think stealing from children might be a new low." "Bill, we once stole a wedding cake." "That guy owed us money." "The cake didn't."