Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQW5M196SHZZKBFNEV6CVW

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the hood of the van, weighting its corners with a stapler, two energy drinks, and a half-eaten sausage roll. It was not, strictly speaking, a blueprint. It was a birthday invitation with a floor plan sketched on the back in glitter pen, because that was the only pen the birthday boy's mother had left by the phone when Molly called pretending to be a bouncy castle inspector. Bill studied it with the gravity of a man defusing a bomb, breathing through his mouth. "Presents go on the trestle table," Molly said, tapping the glitter. "Bill, that's a load-bearing gift pile." He nodded slowly. He had spent four hours that morning learning to twist balloon animals and could now produce a shape he insisted was a giraffe but which Molly maintained was a scandal. Their plan, refined over three nights and one regrettable trial run at a christening, hinged on the piñata. Chaos, Molly had explained, was simply weather you could schedule. Twenty-two sugared children swinging a plastic bat at a papier-mâché donkey would create a window of approximately ninety seconds in which no adult on Earth would be looking at anything else. Bill frowned at his giraffe. "Reckon they'll want seconds?"