Under the neon glow of the playground lights, Molly crouched behind a squeaky swing set. She adjusted her miniature grappling hook and peered at the bouncy castle fortress. Balloons bobbed in the evening breeze like tiny sentries. Bill emerged from behind the cotton candy stand, cookie crumbs still clinging to his whiskers. He dusted off his velvet gloves and scanned the wall of wrapped boxes. A banner reading HAPPY FIFTH BIRTHDAY fluttered above the chaos, daring them to try. Molly clicked her tongue. The scent of sugar and unspent potential filled the air. Two uniformed chaperones lounged by a punch bowl five feet away. It was peak opportunity. Bill offered a conspiratorial grin. They moved in synchronized stealth, whispering last minute strategy. A forlorn clown face hung limply from a broken pinata. As they approached, a distant shriek of delight signaled the arrival of the cake. They froze. Their hearts hammered. It was now or never. Molly's gloved fingers twitched as she eyed the gift table. Glittering bows begged to be liberated in their strategic raid. Absurdity ensued. Bill: "We hit the party cake time when surveillance is weak." Molly: "Don't underestimate the value of tiny hammers, tiny getaway cars."