Run: 2026-07-09-01KX415VKCP985H2J89EKWFXC2

Molly spread the birthday invitation across the dashboard, smoothing glitter beneath her gloves. A cartoon dinosaur grinned up at them, ignorant of crime. “We enter disguised as entertainers,” Molly said. “You juggle. I make balloons.” “I can’t juggle,” Bill whispered. “Or make balloons.” “That’s why I make balloons.” Outside, children swarmed the community hall, shrieking with the savage delight of tiny aristocrats. Parents carried towers of wrapped presents through the doors. Bill watched a bicycle disappear inside and sighed greedily. Their van contained two clown suits, three empty sacks, a smoke machine, and a cake Molly had baked as camouflage. The icing read HAPPY BIRTDAY, because Bill had eaten the spare H. Molly outlined the operation. They would trigger the smoke machine near the puppet theater, announce a dragon emergency, evacuate everyone, then wheel the gifts out inside a papier-mâché castle. Simple, elegant, almost educational. Bill nodded, then opened the cake box. The cake was gone. On the floor sat a guilty terrier wearing frosting like war paint. Before Molly could object, the hall doors burst open. Twenty children spotted the clown suits hanging in the van. The mob charged. Molly locked the doors. Bill started the engine. Behind them, the terrier barked, and the smoke machine began billowing purple clouds.