"Birthday parties, Bill. Think of it," Molly said, eyes gleaming. "Stacks of unopened toys, all neatly wrapped and just begging to be liberated. Forget chimney tops, we're going straight for the heart of the capitalist machine: a six-year-old's wishlist." Bill leaned back, studying the blueprint of the suburban spread laid out on their nondescript kitchen table. "Christmas Eve you're thinking, right?" "Actually, little Bobby's superhero extravaganza is on a Saturday. Far less security detail, you see. Plus, the parents are practically begging for a babysitter at that point." Bill wrinkled his nose. "Kids… noise… sugar highs." "Exactly! They'll be too busy bouncing off the walls to notice two familiar, shimmery figures swiping their loot." Molly grabbed a bag of gummy bears from the counter. "Besides," she added, popping a few in her mouth, "we'll need energy reserves for all that climbing, stuffing, and escaping. Think of ourselves as Robin Hood, except instead of robbing the rich, we're robbing the delusion of a balanced childhood toy market."