The hazy sunlight seeped through the bars of the grimy Venetian blinds, casting suspicious shadows across the dingy motel room. Molly lounged on the sagging bed, flicking open the worn pages of her heist script. Bill, puffing on a cigarette, slouched in the worn armchair beside her. "I don't know, Bill," Molly said, raising an eyebrow as she scanned the typed pages, "This is a bit unorthodox, even for you." "The greatest heists are the ones that push the boundaries, babe. We gotta think outside the box." Bill took a long drag, leaning back in the creaking chair. Molly sighed and tossed the pages aside. She pulled the silk from her chest, revealing a pair of winking doll’s ruby eyes. Battling with her conscience, she said, "Bill, we're stealing from kids. Think about what this could do to them. It's their birthdays. All they want is a little happiness." "Babe, it's just a toy. It's just a little bit of laughter. But the sparkle in little Maria's eyes—now that's something worth stealing." Bill snickered at his own joke. Molly glared at him, her eyes locked on his. "You're not helping. I don't want you to be the puerile thief you claim not to be." Bill grinned, blowing out a ring of smoke. "I'm not the one who dreamed up this brazen heist. You're just worried that you're cracking up."