Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEACA33NEDRF3DZ528H17VM

The warehouse smelled like stale popcorn and desperation, which suited Bill just fine since those were basically his two personality traits. He spread the blueprints across a card table wobbling on three good legs, jabbing a finger at a crudely drawn bounce house. "This is where we breach," he said, tapping the paper like a general planning D-Day. Molly stared at him over her reading glasses. "It's a birthday party, Bill. For seven-year-olds." "Seven-year-olds with premium security. You seen the amount of Paw Patrol merchandise going into that house? That's a small fortune in molded plastic." She couldn't argue with the math. Word on the street—specifically from Bill's cousin who did birthday clowning—was that little Tyler's grandparents had gone berserk at Toys R Us. Forty presents, minimum. Easy money if they could get past the real threat: forty sugar-crazed children and one suspicious mother named Karen. "We go in disguised," Molly said, holding up two rental costumes. "You're the balloon guy." Bill looked at the costume, then at her. "Why do I have to be the balloon guy?" "Because I called dibs on face painting first." He sighed, already regretting every choice that led him here, wrestling with helium tanks for a bag of stolen LEGO sets.