Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATN1JNSHCVY6DN782J9BY3

Molly unfolded the invite. "Okay, so the Johnson kid turns seven at Chuck E. Cheese, Saturday at three. Prime time." Bill adjusted his mask. "Three? That's daylight, Molly. We're professionals." "Professionals who need Xbox games," she said. "Think about it—pin the tail on the donkey, cake, then bam, we hit the gift table while everyone's sugar-crazed." "Are we disguising ourselves as clowns? That's really terrifying." "We wear party hats. Low profile. When they sing Happy Birthday, we count to twenty, then bolt with the loot bags." "What if the kids notice we're adults?" "They'll be distracted by the pizza. I've seen the catering order. It's deep dish. Takes forty minutes to chew one slice." Bill scratched his chin. "You want to rob a seven-year-old's party? That's morally bankrupt." "I want a PS5. You want a PS5. Little Timmy gets his Spider-Man figurine back next Christmas. It's called redistribution of wealth." "That's not—" "We hide in the ball pit until closing. Nobody checks the ball pit. It's a law of physics." Bill sighed. "Fine. But if a kid asks for my autograph, I'm punching him now." "Deal. And Bill? Don't eat the tickets. We need those for the skee-ball payout."