Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GRCBK48ZH4A99T5TY6G16B

Molly crouched behind the hydrangeas, binoculars pressed to her determined face. Across the lawn, a bouncy castle sagged in the afternoon heat like a defeated marshmallow. "Target acquired," she whispered. "Twelve presents. One piñata. Possible clown." Bill adjusted his fake mustache, which was sliding off his sweaty lip. "Intel says the clown makes balloon animals. We're talking about a man with twisted ambition." "Focus. Entry point?" "The side gate. We hit during musical chairs. Chaos window of ninety seconds." "And the getaway?" Bill patted the Radio Flyer wagon beside him. "She's fueled up and ready." "That's the target's wagon, Bill." "Allegedly." "Why is there glitter on your hands?" "Residue from a previous job. Focus." Molly studied the yard, where a table groaned under wrapping paper. "Guards?" "One mother on juice box duty, currently distracted by a sugar-related incident." "Beautiful." Then a small voice inside shrieked that the magician had arrived. Molly's jaw tightened. "New variable. Magicians keep rabbits, and rabbits have excellent hearing." "So?" "So move quietly, Bill." A sharp whistle blew. Musical chairs had begun. Bill stood, mustache askew, gripping the wagon handle like a knight's sword. "For posterity," he said. "For PlayStation money," Molly corrected, and they charged.