Molly and Bill hunched over a detailed blueprint of a sprawling suburban house, lit only by the glow of a single, flickering light bulb in the abandoned garage. They were dressed in dark, nondescript clothing - black hoodies and ski masks. "You sure they're having a party tomorrow?" Molly asked, her voice muffled by the mask. "Positive. The thermal imaging picked up a horde of ice-cream engorged kids last night," Bill replied, "Those present boxes? Marshall's 'For-Profit Pony Party' scam kits." Molly snorted. "All that dough, and they can't spring for the Deluxe Candelabra Edition?" "Hey! That set has better resale value, sure. But every cent counts when you're scamming a hundred parents." Bill pointed to the backyard. "Entry's through here. Supply closet. Should be unguarded." "Then what?" Molly asked, "Sounds too easy." "It is. The parents'll be too busy yelling at the birthday boy not to eat too much cake to notice us." "Alright," Molly said, "Once inside, we make for the playroom. Unfortunately, all the kids will be there." "So we've got hostage-ish situation," Bill said. "You'll be disarming the parents while I shove loot into a sack," Molly said. "Don't full that sack, idiot," Bill said. "We need to slip out." Molly nodded, "Tell me when you're done, I'll do the grab." Bill and Molly high-fived gloved hands. "Marshmallow's presents are as good as ours."