"Alright, listen up, Bill. This is a piece of cake." Molly adjusted her bright pink ski mask, a stark contrast to the dimly lit warehouse they were huddled in. "We waltz in like we own the place, grab the loot, and disappear. Simple." Bill tugged at his matching mask, frowning. "I don't know, Molly. Kids' parties are full of chaos. One wrong move and the whole gig blows up in our faces." "Exactly. Chaos is our friend. Nobody's paying attention to the fine print with all that sugar-fueled mayhem," Molly chuckled, pulling out a diagram. "See this? The presents are under that piata. We wait until the piata breaks, swoop in, and—" "Wait, Molly, a piata? Those things are practically indestructible," Bill interrupted, eyes wide. "Remember the piata incident of '09? That was a disaster!" Molly rolled her eyes. "This isn't some flimsy donkey. It's a unicorn. Delicate. We'll use the piata stick to our advantage. It's the perfect cover. Trust me." Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But if any kid sees us, I'm blaming you." "Deal. Now, let's get in, get out, and get paid," Molly grinned, pulling out her favorite set of lockpicks. "Ready?" "As ready as I'll ever be," Bill muttered, though his tone didn't quite match his confidence.