Under the flicker of a lone streetlamp, Molly tiptoed awkwardly across the manicured lawn. She adjusted her black glove, squinting at the chaotic circus of party decorations. Bill crouched behind a plastic flamingo, muttering about helium balloons and sugar highs. They both shared a conspiratorial grin as the distant sound of children shrieking pierced the night. Molly withdrew a crumpled blueprint of backyard gates and snack tables. Bill tapped his watch, which glowed with a custom laser pointer. "Molly: Tonight we nab every gift from sugar-fueled kiddie fortress." "Bill: I'll distract the parents with interpretive balloon animal dance." They rehearsed the silent signal: two thumbs down for abort, one thumbs up for proceed. A rogue frisbee whistled past them. Molly caught it, winked, and tossed it back with a flourish. Bill cursed softly when it landed in a flowerpot. They whispered tactics about stealthy sock-on-sand steps and muzzled giggle traps. Glitter and confetti littered the lawn like powdered sugar. The scent of frosting and chaos hung in the air. Each present under the canopy promised a thrilling haul. They inhaled deeply, bracing for the raid that would make them legends in the underworld of party crashers. Operation Sweet Tooth begins.