“Don’t you think we’re pushing it a little, Bill?” Molly said, her voice barely a whisper over the manic giggling of a dozen five-year-olds. “Pushing what? We’re just here to observe,” Bill whispered back, his eyes darting around the brightly decorated room. Balloons bobbed lazily from the ceiling, a cake with “Happy Birthday, Timmy!” scrawled in icing sat untouched on a table, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of sugar and despair. Molly snorted. “Observe? Looks like a full-blown reconnaissance mission to me.” “It’s all in the name of research, Molly,” Bill said, grinning. “We need to understand our target.” He pointed to a table laden with wrapped gifts. “Those things are our target, Bill,” Molly said, her voice a low growl. “And I’m pretty sure they’re all just filled with sugar-free gummy bears and educational board games.” Bill scoffed. “You’re just jealous because your parents only ever gave you socks for your birthday.” “That was because I was a good girl,” Molly countered, “unlike you, who always went for the big score, even if it was just pilfering the cookies from the teacher's desk.” Bill puffed out his chest. “That takes talent, Molly. It takes cunning.” “It takes a lack of morals,” Molly retorted, but a small smile played on her lips. “You’re just upset because you didn’t think of it first,” Bill said, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to share the bounty with you. It’s all about teamwork, I always say.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘bounty’, you mean those sugar-free gummy bears, right?” “They’re sugar-free, but they’re still gummy bears,” Bill said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “And they’re valuable in the right hands.” “Oh, I know,” Molly said, her eyes glittering with mischief. “But how are we going to get them past the mothers? They’ve got a keen eye for the strange and suspicious.” Bill’s grin widened. “We’ll need a diversion. Something big. Something… spectacular.” He glanced at Timmy, who was now sprawled on the floor, wailing in a fit of epic proportions. Molly gasped. “Bill, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “You read my mind, Molly,” Bill said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “And just like every year, Timmy is our golden ticket to a successful heist.” The party, once filled with the sounds of children’s laughter, now echoed with the sounds of Timmy’s escalating tantrum. The mothers, their faces contorted in a mixture of concern and annoyance, were already converging on the wailing boy. From his pocket, Bill pulled out a handful of colorful confetti, tossing it into the air like a magician revealing his grand finale. “Let the show begin!” he proclaimed, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a mischievous glee that promised chaos and mayhem, and maybe, just maybe, a little something for their trouble.