Molly peered through the window at the brightly-colored decorations adorning the party room. Streamers and balloons hung from the ceiling, and a big banner proclaimed "Happy 10th Birthday Timmy!" "What's the play, babe?" asked Bill, his voice muffled by the ski mask obscuring the lower half of his face. "I'm thinking we wait till the little shits are opening presents and then come barging in, waving our guns around," Molly replied, adjusting her own mask. "When they're all crying their eyes out, we just grab the loot and bounce." Bill nodded appreciatively. "Classic. I like it when you go for the classics, Mol. What do you say we head around back and get in position?" "Sounds like a plan." She cracked her knuckles. "I'm gonna enjoy putting the fear of God in those brats." Minutes later, they crouched behind some shrubs, waiting for their chance to strike. Suddenly, the door burst open and out came a gaggle of kids, followed by harried-looking parents. "Okay everyone, it's time for presents!" called a woman who must have been the mom. "Aww man, I wanted cake first!" whined a boy. The parents shushed him and ushered the children inside. Once the coast was clear, Molly and Bill crept up to the back door. Bill picked the lock with deft fingers, and they slipped inside unnoticed. The scene before them was pure chaos - paper and ribbons were strewn everywhere as the kids tore into their gifts with wild abandon. No one paid any attention to the two masked figures entering the room. "Nobody move!" bellowed Bill, leveling his gun at the startled crowd. "This is a stick-up!" Molly snatched an armful of unopened presents off the gift table, shoving them into a big sack she carried. "You heard my partner, you little maggots! This is your last chance before I start shooting toes off!" Timmy the birthday boy burst into tears, while his friends looked on in mute shock and horror. The parents cowered against the walls, praying they wouldn't be hurt. "Bill, let's blow this popsicle stand," Molly said after quickly grabbing up the last of the gifts. "I'm sick of the smell of baby shit in here." "No shit, let's scram." He backed toward the door, still