Molly pried open the secret compartment of the park bench, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she pulled out a weathered map. Bill leaned against the trash bin across the street, pretending to read the graffiti as always. "You heard about Mrs. Blackwood's whirlwind of a birthday party?" Molly asked, her voice hushed yet thrilling. Bill tipped his head, pretending seriousness. "Only bits and pieces, but it's the hottest assignment yet." Molly tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Do you think we should kidnap the cat? It has claws for stealth and demands the finest turkey." Bill chuckled, his voice a low growl. "Laughter is the idle art when education in burglary is sought. No hunting for Mr. Mew. That kitty is too smart for yarn." Molly smirked, her grin lopsided like the old vending machine they'd almost tripped over. "Fine. So, high-pitched sneak direction?" "Base our approach on the elephant parades," he replied, eyeing the notice board for the parade route. "Every year, they draw the parents' eyes away." Confusion warred with amusement on Molly's face. "Elephants at a kid's party? Bizarre." Bill's grin stretched into a grin, backward and backward. "Method knows no bounds. As do we, Molly." "Liberty's just freedom binary," she mused, mimicking a superhero gimmick. "No limiter to comic-genre theft." "We'll call ourselves The Binary Bandits," said Bill, rolling a lockpick between his fingers. "Notable in tales of travel and two-bit art heists." Molly stretched a yawn, one that scraped the elbows of her shedding tan. "Sounds dashing. Mrs. Blackwood can splurge on us her high-priced kid size toys and scratch-offs promising infinite joy." Bill's eyes winked, sliding over hers like a shadow across the moon. "Yet, for these Golden Tinsel Crumb-adorned soufflés, a circus of items we shall plunder—toys, games, and those Aisle Finder Maps everybody screams about." "Great thinker you are," Molly said, putting her head in her hands. "Let's discuss the void and how many presents I am to fill." "Speak of daily purchases and you gain control—stolen knowledge," Mr. Goodword had taught her. "Thief or philosopher? Neutral at your whim." Bill approached, his silhouette a dark smudge on the yellowing map. "We'll execute precision. Mrs. Ohshell's baby Einstein, Captain Kidd's pirate adventure—each will sing a new opera of potential amour." Molly nodded, her enthusiasm a Titanic of promise. "I'll learn the 'Fizzle' Walk. Hey, remember when we almost fizzled at the gala? Best move." "To flourish, not merely survive," Bill nudged his chin. "You, the cat's whiskers. I, the sword flame." Chuckles and battle-cries melded into a musical beforeot opener of night sprang hose-on-escalator, encapsulating factory's chimes and secrets. "One last pro quip, Binary Bandits, shun these saucers of joy but embrace the dream we conceive," Molly said, trailing her fingers down a lock on the party gate. "Certainty is the fantastical fruit," retorted Bill. "Let's savor its taste." Our merry band of phantom marauders danced under the moon's approving gaze, plotting the pleasure of their electric heist for the sleepy town's children. Unseen by all but the stars, they embarked on their quest for the frivolous treasures of growth.