The night air was thick with the scent of vanilla cupcakes and cheap plastic decorations strewn across a manicured suburban backyard. Molly crouched behind a blossoming rose bush, her black jumpsuit clinking softly with every tense shift of her shoulders. Across the yard Bill scanned a string of flickering fairy lights dangling above a kiddie table laden with presents wrapped in bright paper. They weren’t exactly high rollers in the world of crime, but desperate times called for desperate measures—namely, a daring heist at a children’s birthday party. Inside, laughter echoed through the window, and the thump of an excited piñata promised a treasure trove of candies and more importantly, the stacks of unopened boxes waiting to be spirited away. Molly: "All right, Bill, what's the plan? We tiptoe to the window, unlock it, and in five minutes we're gone with every gift." Bill: "Sounds simple, but have you considered the birthday clown? He’s massive, armed with cream pies." Molly: "The clown is the least of our worries. We’ve got disguises ready. You’ll be Captain Balloons, I’ll be Mistress Piñata." Bill: "Disguises? I look ridiculous in inflatable sleeves and a foam hat. Are you sure parents won’t notice?" Molly: "By the time they realize it’s us the cake will be half-eaten and we’ll be sailing away with the goods." Bill: "Sailing away? In a clown car? That thing barely starts, last time you tried you set off an alarm in Boise." Molly: "We upgraded. Now it’s battery-powered—no emissions and it honks only in the key of B-flat. Perfect stealth entry." Bill: "Battery-powered honks? I can’t hear you over my doubts. Also, why are you humming the Mission Impossible theme?" Molly: "Mood music increases efficiency. Everyone knows that. Now, about the presents. There are fifty full-sized toys under that table." Bill: "Fifty? Fantastic. I'll need at least three trips. Do you think kids will notice their gifts vanishing?" Molly: "Not if we distract them. You start bubble-blowing in the corner. I'll unleash a sudden tickle monster attack." Bill: "Got it. Bubbles and tickles as a cover for sticky fingers. What could possibly go wrong?" Molly: "Keep it tight. If the cake falls or Mrs. McGregor spots us, we abort and regroup at the hackathon warehouse." Silently they readied their costumes—Molly adjusting a rainbow tutu over her black jumpsuit, Bill fastening balloons. Through the sliding glass door they glided, shadowing the swaying strings of pennants and paper lanterns. Inside, a sea of toddlers scattered crayons and half-eaten snacks, oblivious to the approaching miscreants. Molly struck popping a bubble on the cake table; giggles as kids rushed the spheres. Bill seized the moment, scooping gifts into a duffel to avoid sparkly bows and glitter bombs. A chorus of squeals drew parents’ eyes from the gift pile, granting seconds to stash spoils. With a final inhale of birthday balloon scent, they slipped outdoors, duffel taut and hearts pounding. Back in the rose bush, they high-fived, two bandits victorious, leaving only faint honks and candy wrappers behind.