In the shadowy alley behind the community center, Molly and Bill huddled together, their breath visible in the chilly night air. The hum of children's laughter and music from the party inside floated out, a stark contrast to their hushed tones. "Alright, Bill," Molly began, her voice barely above a whisper, "You sure about this? Stealing from kids? It's not exactly our usual gig." Bill, a lanky man with a nervous twitch, rubbed his hands together. "It's not like they won't get more presents, Molly. Besides, it's not like we're stealing from the poor. These are rich kids. Their parents can afford it." Molly raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that? You've been casing this joint for a week now. You been sneaking into their homes too?" Bill chuckled, "No, no. Just a hunch. Trust me, Molly. This is a goldmine." Molly sighed, looking at the back door of the community center. "Fine. But we're not taking everything. Leave some presents. We're not monsters." Bill nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Deal. Now, let's get this show on the road." They slipped into the building, moving silently through the dark corridors. The party was in full swing in the main hall, the sound of a piñata being smashed echoing through the halls. They ducked into a storage closet, their hearts pounding in sync. "Okay," Molly whispered, pulling out a lock-picking set, "The presents are in the office next door. We'll have to be quick and quiet." Bill nodded, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Piece of cake." Molly rolled her eyes, "Famous last words, Bill. Famous last words." They slipped into the office, their eyes scanning the room. Presents were piled high, a veritable mountain of toys and treats. Molly's heart softened for a moment, but Bill's eager hands snapped her back to reality. "Let's grab the good stuff," he whispered, stuffing a high-end gaming console into his bag. Molly shook her head, grabbing a few smaller, but still expensive, items. "We're not leaving them with nothing, Bill." Bill sighed, but complied, grabbing a few more presents. They worked quickly, their bags filling up with each passing second. Just as they were about to leave, the door creaked open. A small boy, no older than eight, stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Molly and Bill exchanged a panicked glance. This was not part of the plan.