Under the flickering streetlamp, Molly crouched behind a pile of Wyvern’s Wrappings, her grin reflecting in night-vision goggles. Bill hovered by the white picket fence, polishing a skeletal crowbar. The distant squeals of sugar-fueled children echoed through hedges, pushing Molly’s excitement skyward. She tapped Bill’s shoulder. "Got the tickets?" she whispered. Bill sniffed, producing two neon balloons. "These are deflated," he muttered. She shrugged, retrieving party invites pilfered from a distracted mother. Inside the yard, inflatable dinosaurs formed a gauntlet around a rainbow castle cake. "Look at that cake," she hissed. A troop of toddlers charged plastic ponies, shrieking with glee. Molly crouched beside the gift table, smirking. Bill surveyed the tiers of wrapped rectangles: shiny blues, flirty pinks, cartoon squares. "Sweet plunder awaits," she grinned. "Which one first?" Molly asked. Bill tapped a polka-dot parcel. "We strike now," he whispered. They readied specialized cutters—glow-in-the-dark wire snippers for ribbons, laser dice for seals. At eight, the duo bolted across the lawn, boots squeaking on fake grass. In synchronized silence, they began their plunder, whisking presents into feather-light backpacks. Night yawned as they melted into darkness, sacks bulging triumphantly under the moon’s laugh. "Precisely," she nodded. Laughter trailed behind. Mission accomplished.