Under the flickering fluorescent lights of the community center’s main hall, Molly adjusted her sleek black mask and peered around a cluster of pastel balloons. Bill crouched beside her, fidgeting with a borrowed tiny crowbar that looked comically undersized for a heist of this scale. Voices from the party drifted through the open doors: cheerful laughter mingled with squealing toddlers and occasional shrieks of sugar overload. The table piled high with wrapped gifts gleamed like hidden treasure in dim light. Every shiny bow was an unspoken invitation. Bill: This is our biggest score ever, Molly. All those party gifts for the taking. Molly: Quiet down, would you? I can almost taste the victory, sugar-coated and shining bright. Molly’s heart fluttered as she refocused on the prize haul. Each package represented a childhood dream: remote control cars, dollhouses, superhero capes bursting with possibilities. She suppressed a mischievous grin. Bill’s plan called for stealth and precision: bypass the snack table, neutralize the blinking balloon arch, and whisk away every single present before anyone noticed the disappearance. They had mapped the hall in chalk weeks ago, marking guard shifts of parents distracted by tiny plastic crowns. All that remained was execution. Bill: The cake frosting fumes will cover any noise we make—like a sweet, audible camouflage. Molly: Careful, Bill. Last time you tripped we almost set off that helium balloon alarm. They inched through the doorway, sliding under the balloon arch as if they belonged. Bright overhead lights revealed gaudy plastic tablecloths and rows of juice boxes with bendy straws. A colorful clown mural stared down, expression fixed in cheerful absurdity. Bill glanced at Molly, eyebrows raised. Somewhere beyond, a group of parents compared smartphone wallpaper while ignoring towering stacks of gift bags. Molly signaled and edged toward the grand prize area. Her gloved hand hovered over the bodice of the largest package, its ribbon begging to be plucked. Bill: Don’t worry, expert thief at your service—I’ve mastered silent banana peels and targeted tumble. Molly: I’ll handle the cutter; you disable the scented candle fountain before chaos erupts loudly. Molly retrieved a sleek metal cutter from her pocket, its blade whispering against the edge of a gift box. Bill nodded and crept toward a cluster of scented miniature candle fountains near the cake display. He knelt, inserted a twisty screwdriver, and muffled the mechanical chirp of the wind-up gimmick. Meanwhile, Molly sliced through duct tape disguised as decoration. The room remained blissfully ignorant. Paper rustled softly as ribbons fell into a small duffel bag. A crumb-strewn cupcake perched on a nearby plate served as the lone witness to their covert operation. Perfect silence. Bill: Once we’ve got the presents, we’ll vanish into the night like stealthy sugar ninjas. Molly: I’m more worried about the birthday clown’s squeaky hammer than the watchful parents here. Bill: If that clown spots us, he’ll launch animal balloons and trigger sudden instant chaos. Molly: Alright, partner, goggles on, whispers up, pounding—time to turn party favors into our fortune.