Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD5X1PNG7GHE1607PK5WWV9

Molly crouched behind the hedge, binoculars trained on the backyard. Bill crouched beside her, eating a sandwich. "Put that away," she hissed. "We're professionals." "It's pastrami. Professionals eat." "Focus. Sixteen presents on that picnic table. Piñata shaped like a donkey. One clown, possibly armed." "Clowns aren't armed, Molly." "That one's got a balloon sword and dead eyes, Bill." Bill squinted through the fence slats. "The cake says 'Happy 7th Birthday, Tyler.' We're robbing a seven-year-old." "We're liberating merchandise from an over-gifted child. Tyler won't miss a Nerf gun." "He'll miss sixteen Nerf guns." "Details." Molly unrolled a hand-drawn map. "Phase one: you go in dressed as a magician." "Why me?" "Because you own a cape." "It's a Snuggie." "Nobody checks. You perform, distract the parents, I load the presents into the van." "What's my stage name?" "The Great Billdini." "That's terrible." "You have ten seconds to think of a better one." "...Billdini it is." Molly checked her watch. "The piñata breaks at three. That's our window." "And if the clown intervenes?" She pulled a tire iron from her bag. "Then the Great Billdini gets a very educational afternoon." Bill sighed. "I hate birthday jobs." "Everyone hates them. That's why they pay in cake." "...Can I keep the cake?" "If Tyler doesn't cry. Now move."