The flickering neon sign of "FunLand" cast an accusatory pink and purple glow over Molly's face. She squinted up at it, chewing the end of a bright pink candyfloss stick. "You sure about this, Bill?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the tinny strains of "Baby Shark" emanating from within. Bill, hunched behind a stack of overflowing garbage cans, fiddled with the lockpicks in his hands. "Relax, Molls. Kids' parties are prime pickings. Think about it – mountains of presents, no security, and everyone's too busy stuffing their faces with cake to notice a couple of 'borrowers' slipping in and out." "Borrowing," Molly snorted, "You make it sound so respectable. We're stealing, Bill. From kids." Bill waved his hand dismissively. "They won't even remember by tomorrow. Besides, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer plush ain't exactly museum-grade." Molly begrudgingly agreed. She looked at the building again, its windows splashed with Day-Glo rainbows. A cluster of parents milled around in the entrance, their conversations drowned out by the cacophony of squealing children. She could see through the windows a bouncy castle, its inflated walls pulsating with the chaotic energy of six-year-olds. Bill finished fiddling with the lockpicks and held up a metal door handle. "Bingo. Parental supervision...nonexistent. Let's go." He gave the door a nudge, the hinges groaning like complaining skeletons. Molly slipped in, her eyes darting around, adjusting to the dimly lit interior. The place smelled of greasy pizza, sugared snacks, and something Molly hoped wasn't vomit. Lost in the confusion of brightly coloured balloons and party streamers, they maneuvered through the throng of children, their legs bouncing on the springs of an oversized inflatable obstacle course. Bill weaved his way through a table laden with sugary treats, carefully avoiding sticky fingers reaching for the glitter-encrusted cupcakes. "Okay, Molls," he whispered, pointing towards a corner piled high with presents. "Go-time." Molly's eyes widened as she caught sight of the loot. Towers built of brightly wrapped packages, their bows straining under the weight of unseen treasures. She imagined the delicate ballet slippers, the remote-controlled robots, the fluffy unicorns, all hers for the taking. "Just be quick. And don't touch..." His sentence was cut short as a blast of music erupted. A conga line of giggling children thundered past, their arms linked, knocking Bill off his feet. Molly, balanced precariously on a teetering stack of cardboard boxes, swore under her breath. This was more like a war zone than a playground, and the enemy were armed with sugar rushes and questionable hygiene. "Bill, you okay?" she hissed, peering down at the tangle of limbs on the floor. Bill, emerging from the giggling pile, rubbed his head sheepishly. "Yeah, just a few bruises. This operation is harder than I thought..." Their eyes met, reflecting the neon lights of the disco ball above. A grin slowly spread across Molly's face. "Ready for Plan B?" Bill raised an eyebrow. "We use the kids."