Molly pored over the blueprint of "Kiddie Kingdom," a sprawling indoor playground that hosted the most extravagant children's parties in town. She and her partner, Bill, sat in their cramped, cluttered apartment, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and scattered notes on various scoring opportunities. Bill, lounging on the couch, tossed a rubber chicken in the air, catching it with a grin. "Focus, Bill," Molly said, tapping the blueprint with her pen. "We have a party to crash." "Right, right. Presents galore, just waiting to be liberated." Bill set the chicken aside, his eyes drifting to the layout. "So, we're hitting the 'Princess Sophia's 8th Birthday Extravaganza.' What's the plan, Molly?" "Simple: we blend in with the(parent-chaperone crowd, sunglasses and lanyards will do the trick. Once the kids are distracted by the bouncy castle, we slip into the present storage room." Molly traced the route on the blueprint. "This ventilation shaft looks like our best bet for undetected access." Bill whistled. "You've been watching too many heist movies, Mol. Ventilation shafts are always a red flag." "It's the best option we have, short of dressing up as clowns." Molly raised an eyebrow. "You game for that?" Bill shuddered. "No. I draw the line at oversized pants." Molly nodded, making a note on the margin. "Alright, so we're in through the shaft. What's the estimated haul?" "According to Sophia's mom's Instagram, there are at least twenty kids attending, each bringing a gift. If we're lucky, we're looking at a minimum of five grand in toys and gift cards." Bill rubbed his hands together, a gleam in his eye. "Lovely. Now, what's the opposition looking like?" Molly leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. "Security-wise, it's your standard kiddie fare: one sleepy guard and a bunch of harried staff. The real challenge will be avoiding the parents. They can get pretty... protective of their little snowflakes." Bill snorted. "And their gifts." Molly smirked. "Leave that to me. I've been practicing my 'exasperated parent' face in the mirror." As they delved deeper into the plan, the room grew quieter, the only sound the soft rustling of papers and the occasional creak of the old apartment building. The rubber chicken, forgotten on the couch cushion, seemed to watch them with an unblinking gaze, a reminder of the absurdity of their latest caper. "Okay, last thing," Molly said, pushing the blueprint away. "We need a safe word in case things go south." Bill thought for a moment before grinning. "How about ' cake'? It's innocuous, yet instantly conveys 'we need to bail, pronto.'" Molly rolled her eyes. "You and your love of baked goods. Alright, 'cake' it is. Let's get rich off present-napping."