Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEAC0ESPJ91XFDRP6ZK70QX

The van smelled like old pizza and bad decisions, which was fitting, considering Bill had parked it three houses down from a birthday party decorated with more balloons than a parade float. Molly sat in the passenger seat, studying a crumpled printout of the house like it was a bank vault schematic. "Okay," she said, tapping the paper. "Presents are gonna be on the table by the bounce house. That's our target zone." Bill squinted at the paper, then at the house, then back at the paper like he was trying to solve a riddle. "Why are we robbing a six-year-old's birthday party again?" "Because, Bill, six-year-olds get the *best* loot. Nintendo Switches, Legos, those little robot dogs that cost more than my rent. Nobody robs kid parties. It's a blind spot in the criminal underworld." "That's because it's monstrous." "It's *efficient*." Bill sighed, rubbing his temples like he already regretted every choice that led him to this parked van. "There's gonna be like thirty screaming children in there." "Which is exactly why no one will notice two adults in dinosaur costumes." Bill turned slowly to look at the back seat, where two full-body inflatable T-Rex costumes sat folded like sad green laundry. "Absolutely not." "You said you wanted to blend in." "I wanted a *disguise*, Molly, not to become a birthday mascot!" "Same thing, different tail." Ten minutes later, Bill was wheezing inside the inflatable dinosaur suit, sweat already pooling somewhere he'd rather not think about, waddling toward the party with Molly beside him, her own T-Rex head slightly crooked so one eye stared permanently at the sky. "This was your idea," Bill grumbled through the mesh mouth opening. "Best idea I've ever had," Molly said proudly, though her voice echoed strangely from inside the costume, like a ghost narrating a nature documentary. They shuffled through the gate, past a woman in a "World's Best Mom" apron who beamed and clapped. "Oh my gosh, the dinosaurs are here! Right on time!" "Yep," Molly said cheerfully. "Rawr. For the kids. Very fun. Where are presents located, ma'am, for... entertainment purposes." The mom pointed toward a table buried under wrapped boxes and gift bags shaped like unicorns. Bill leaned toward Molly, his voice muffled. "This is way too easy." "Never say that during a heist, Bill. The universe is listening." As if summoned, a swarm of six-year-olds spotted them and shrieked with the kind of joy that could shatter glass, sprinting straight at the two "dinosaurs" with terrifying enthusiasm. "They think we're for hire!" Bill hissed, stumbling backward as three kids latched onto his tail. "Improvise!" Molly shouted, doing an awkward twirl that sent one child into fits of laughter and nearly toppled a folding table. Twenty minutes, four birthday songs, and one unfortunate limbo contest later, Bill collapsed onto a lawn chair, defeated, costume half-unzipped, revealing his sweat-drenched face. "We didn't steal a single present," he panted. Molly, sitting beside him with a juice box in one dinosaur claw, shrugged. "Yeah, but I got invited to do this again next month. Growth opportunity."