Molly adjusted the miniature camera lens hidden in her oversized novelty sunglasses, taking a moment to appreciate the ridiculously cheerful slogan printed on the party invitation plastered on the wall of the suburban McMansion: "Bucky's 5th Birthday Bash!" The air was thick with the scent of imminent chaos and the distant tang of freshly baked cupcakes. Molly's eyes locked onto the party entrance, a garish archway constructed from balloons and twisted pipe cleaners. She nudged her partner, Bill, who was pretending to read the neighborhood newspaper, his face obscured by a rumpled trucker's hat. "You think the security's going to be a real challenge, huh?" Molly asked, not taking her eyes off the target. Bill lowered his paper, revealing a crooked grin. "Oh, I'm shakin' in my boots. A bunch of toddlers and their harried parents? It's like they're throwing a welcome mat for thieves." Molly chuckled, running a hand over the wig she'd styled to resemble a frizzy perm. "You know, that's why I love you. You're a true optimist. 'Hey, Molly, let's break into a children's birthday party! It'll be a blast...literally!' Remember that time we got chased by the Shriners in Nebraska?" Bill's eyes crinkled at the corners. "We were young, wild, and free...and also really stupid. But we learned from our mistakes. This time, we've got expert-quality costumes and a solid plan. Okay, so maybe not expert-quality, but these getups are pretty solid. I mean, who wouldn't believe a 40-year-old man in a 'Kiss the Birthday Boy' t-shirt and a pair of ill-fitting clown pants?" Molly shook her head, a hint of amusement dancing across her lips. "You're going to scare the kid more than the birthday clown. Just stick to the plan, okay? We get in, grab the presents, and make like a good thief." As they watched, a group of screaming children burst out of the house, their shrieks and laughter sending a nearby squirrel scurrying for cover. Molly's gaze flickered to the far corner of the yard, where a "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" game was underway, with a very wobbly donkey and a very determined toddler wielding a tail shaped like a giant purple crayon. Bill's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Alright, here's the revised plan. We mix in, grab the gifts, and—" Molly held up a hand. "I got it. I've been listening for weeks. We escape through the sewer grate in the corner of the yard, narrowly avoiding a kiddie pool full of Jell-O shots and what's left of the cake." Their eyes met in a moment of mutual understanding, a wink and a tilt of the head substituting for a more elaborate explanation. This was it – the moment they'd been planning for weeks. Time to unleash the chaos, and reap the rewards of their nefarious scheme.