Molly peeked around the corner, her blonde pixie cut sparkling under the streetlight. "Okay, the coast is clear. Let's move." Bill adjusted his glasses, squinting at the mansion ahead. "Are you sure about this, Mol? Breaking into a kiddie party? It's low, even for us." "We ain't taking their lollipops, Bills. Them presents are gonna be filled with top dollar gadgets. Sell 'em to the right pawn shop and we're set for a year." Bill sighed, drumming his chapped fingers on the rusted pickaxe over his shoulder. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm telling them it was all your idea." Molly grinned, cackling lowly. "Always the voice of reason, ain't ya Bill? Let's dance." They slunk across the pristine lawn, sticking to the shadows like wraiths. Molly made light work of the lock, her nimble fingers dancing over the pins. With a soft click, the door swung open. Inside, the party was in full swing. Primary colors flashed from the huge TV, spilling out into the hallway. Molly and Bill exchanged a look - the parents were likely off getting sloshed. The kids were preoccupied. Bill shuffled his feet, suddenly looking unsure. "You know, maybe breaking into a house full of kids is a line too far. What if one of them wakes up?" "Horse shit. Half these little brats are probably on some kinda sugar high. They won't remember shit in the morning when their mummy and daddy buy them something shinier." Molly was already moving down the hall, her eyes searching the walls for the good stuff. Jackpot - they burst into a room littered with presents. A huge Christmas tree stood in the corner, strung with tarnished candy canes. Bill hesitated at the doorway. "This feels wrong, Mol." She shot him a look. "Five years we've been dancing side by side, but now you're cold feetin' me? Either help or get out of my way." Bill swallowed hard, his pudgy cheeks bunching up. "Fine. But I don't like it." They fell to shoving presents into their packs, cackling and high-fiving each other. Gold iPhones, designer track suits, limited edition Xboxes - each present was a bigger score than the last. Suddenly, the lights flickered and fwomped to life. A plastic voice crackled over the baby monitor. "Mummy? I heard a noise. Is Santa here?" Molly and Bill froze, holding their breath. The baby breathed heavily into the speaker. "Mummy? I saw them. The robbers. They're stealing the presents..." Fuck. Time to run. They tore out of the room, Molly nearly ministicking Bill in her haste. They piled into the van, rubbing their hands gleefully over their fat packs. Bill hit the gas, leaving a trail of rubber behind them. Slinking through the dark, Molly and Bill felt giddy on adrenaline, heists, and the exhilaration of their own twisted glee. Another successful score, another Elfdream delivered to greasy-palmed thieves. Another War on Christmas won. Merry shitheads to all, and to all a good score.