Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PF1XMCA5KCG4E5YX7KGKJ

The van smelled like cold pizza and bad decisions. Molly peered through binoculars at the backyard across the street, where a bouncy castle swayed like a neon jellyfish. "Target acquired," Bill whispered, though nobody could possibly hear them. "One clown, twelve kids, and a piñata shaped like a dinosaur." "Bill, why are we whispering?" "Operational security. Now, I've drawn up the schematics." He unrolled a piece of construction paper covered in crayon. "The presents are stacked on a folding table by the grill. Guarded by—" "A golden retriever." "A golden retriever," he confirmed gravely. "Which is why we go in through the bouncy castle. Nobody expects two adults in a bouncy castle." "Everyone expects two adults in a bouncy castle, Bill. Everyone will stare at two adults in a bouncy castle." He tapped the diagram. "That's the distraction, see? While everyone stares at us bouncing majestically, we grab the loot." "That's not a plan, that's a lifestyle choice." Molly lowered the binoculars and rubbed her temples. "What about the clown?" "What about him?" "Clowns are unpredictable. One balloon animal and suddenly he's your best friend and you're helping him make a wiener dog and the whole operation is blown." Bill considered this. "I'll wear a fake nose. Blend in." "You'll blend in with the clown." "Exactly. He'll think I'm a colleague." "You're going to unionize with the clown mid-heist." Bill nodded slowly. "It's called networking, Molly." She snatched the crayon blueprint. "Okay. New plan. We wait for the cake. When they sing Happy Birthday, every adult films it on their phone, every kid screams, and the dog gets the first slice because the birthday boy drops it. That's our window. In, grab the presents, out through the side gate. Ninety seconds." Bill stared at her, wounded. "You planned over my bouncy castle plan." "Your plan required a getaway driver. For a bicycle." "The bike is silent, Molly. Stealth." "The bike has playing cards in the spokes. I can hear it from here." "That's the intimidation factor." Molly checked her watch. "Cake's in ten minutes. Hat on." She produced two party hats from the glove compartment, glittery cones with elastic chin straps. Bill put his on. It made him look like a sad wizard. "If anyone asks, we're the entertainment." "You can't juggle." "I can juggle two things." "That's just holding things and moving them around." "Semantics." They crossed the street, party hats gleaming, two professionals on the most humiliating job of their careers. Halfway down the driveway, the front door opened. A woman with a clipboard looked them up and down. "Oh, thank God you're here," she said. "The balloon guy cancelled. You're the replacements, right? Kids are going nuts in there." Bill and Molly exchanged a look. "Absolutely," said Bill, cracking his knuckles. "We're... colleagues." Molly closed her eyes. Ninety seconds, she told herself. Then cake. Then presents. Then freedom. Behind them, the golden retriever watched the van with great interest.