A stifled giggle drifted from the backyard, followed by cheerful clatter of plastic wands and balloons. The porch light cast long shadows on the velvety lawn where Molly and Bill crouched, hearts racing. They wore sleek black outfits, though colorful streamers and a unicorn inflatable made them look absurd. Rubber horns and confetti crunched under their knees as they exchanged nervous grins. Tonight’s target was a children’s birthday bash loaded with glittering gift wrap and sugar highs. A low fence offered easy passage, guarded only by a barking Chihuahua and scattered party hats. Inside, kids hopped like spring-loaded toys, blasting foam rockets and laughing without care. Presents piled beneath a rainbow banner: shiny paper crumpled, bows perched on promise. The plan was straightforward: swipe every gift, vanish before the cake knife struck. Molly tapped Bill’s elbow, signaling it was time to speak. Molly: “Okay, Bill, what's our entry plan? The side gate or chimney route?” Bill: “Side gate. The chimney’s been watched by the dog since last Tuesday.” Molly: “Have you seen that Chihuahua? Feisty little guard, despite being pint-sized.” Bill: “Feisty? It once bit my ankle right through designer loafers.” Molly: “We need a distraction. Balloons popped? Cake frosting in face, maybe?” Bill: “I say we jam the speaker. Nothing distracts toddlers like total silence.” Molly: “Silence plus darkness equals chaos. They’ll stumble over each other screaming.” Bill: “Perfect. In that panic, we scoop up presents like confetti in parade.” Molly: “But then what? We exit through the back gate, right?” Bill: “Actually, I mapped a tunnel from the garden shed to sandbox.” Molly: “Tunnel? You’ve been digging since Tuesday? How deep is it now?” Bill: “Just ankle-deep. Fine for crawling. Hopefully no stray roots or garden gnomes.” Molly: “Gnomes might squeak. We risk alerting the whole neighborhood.” Bill: “Then we fill the hole with the missing chocolate cake later.” Molly: “Brilliant. Nobody suspects cake thieves. We’ll leave a note signed ‘Sugar Bandits’.” Bill: “Kids will tear through that. We’ll sneak into the shed empty-handed.” Molly: “Then back through the tunnel loaded with gifts like Santa’s worst nightmare.” Bill: “What about security cameras? I saw one near the garage window.” Molly: “Covered with sticky frosting earlier. Nice trick, remember?” Bill: “Right. I still taste vanilla. Delicious and efficient.” Molly: “Timing’s tight. Party starts winding down in five minutes.” Bill: “Perfect. Frosting bomb at T minus two, gate open by three.” Molly: “And exit by five. We’ll be ghost stories by bedtime.” Bill: “Don’t forget the loot bags. I brought reinforced garbage bins.” Molly: “Smart. Wrap presents in towels to muffle all that crinkle.” Bill: “Also gloves. I don’t need fingerprint cake on my paws.” Molly: “Let’s move. Chop-chop, bandit buddy. Operation Gift Grab is live.” Bill: “Copy that. Deploy me, agent Polly. I’m ready to roll.” Molly: “First step: create chaos. Molly to Bill, release the pneumatic horn.” Bill: “On it. Horn deployed. Prepare for maximum toddler pandemonium.” Molly: “Enter stage left, Bill. Let the heist begin.” Bill: “I’ll bring the bins. You bring the glitter bombs.” Molly: “Always ready with glitter.” Bill: “Godspeed, Molly. See you at the extraction point, alive and empty-handed.”