Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GVJ1AXHEYX6JF7CB5FD47W

Molly crouched behind a hedge, binoculars raised with the gravity of a general surveying enemy territory. Beyond it, a bouncy castle sagged in the afternoon heat like a defeated marshmallow. "Target acquired," she whispered. "Nineteen presents. Maybe even twenty." Bill sprawled in the grass beside her, wearing a fake mustache he'd bought ironically and could no longer remove. He consulted a notebook thick with diagrams: the piñata's blind spot, the patrol schedule of a suspicious clown, the precise trajectory required to vault a wading pool. The plan was meticulous. Phase one: distraction via kazoo. Phase two: concealment inside the rented dinosaur costume, which Bill insisted was practically a camouflage tent with legs. Phase three: extraction through the snack table, pausing only if the cake proved chocolate. "Relax," Bill said. "Kids love dinosaurs." Molly had objections. The costume smelled of regret and old birthday candles. Worse, the clown had made eye contact twice, suggesting either suspicion or a cry for help. "We go in at cake time," she said. "When they sing." Bill saluted, dislodging his mustache into the grass. Somewhere beyond the hedge, a toddler screamed with the fury of a haunted kettle, and Molly knew the clock had started.