Under the dim glow of a broken streetlamp, Molly and Bill crouched behind a hedge outside the pastel party hall, surrounded by inflated balloons and the distant echo of children’s laughter. Molly: "All right Bill, we know exactly where the party hall is, just under that flickering streetlight, and the guard dogs are locked up by midnight." Bill: "I’ve been studying those kid security protocols for weeks; helium balloons distract toddlers, clowns trip over confetti, and cake frosting leaves totally perfect fingerprints, apparently." Molly: "I say we use the toy car loaded with bubble solution to trigger a slippery diversion in the foyer, then sneak past the giggling guests." Bill: "What about the chocolate fountain? Little Susie will dive face-first for that, giving us sixty seconds to nab the loot from under the gift table." Molly: "Sixty seconds? We need at least ninety. Also, watch out for Aunt Marge with her glitter cannon; she’s been practicing wedge formation with craft supplies." Bill: "Okay, ninety seconds in. We drop the bubble car, distract with a helium balloon avalanche, completely cover tracks in confetti, grab wrapping paper wallets too." Molly: "Don’t forget we still need to bypass the singing robot piñata; its sensors will detect sudden movement and start blasting maracas at insanely high volume." Bill: "I hacked the remote control; when we hit phase two, the piñata will spin backward, confusing it long enough for us to swipe those boxes." Molly: "Once we’ve grabbed the presents, we lace the ones with glitter bombs on a three-minute timer, so by the time they notice we’re miles away." Bill: "I’ve got the getaway unicycle hidden under the next block of bushes; it handles gravel, grass, and even ramp jumps in case of rapid pursuit." Molly: "A unicycle? After two cups of coffee I can barely walk straight. Maybe pack an extra helmet; I have a serious case of motion squeam." Bill: "Okay, switch to roller skates in that case. I’ve painted them like flamingo feathers to blend with the party theme; toddlers won’t suspect a thing." Molly: "Perfect. After that, we stake out the snack table, zip the good kids into the ball pit, then exit through the inflatable castle drainage chute." Bill: "And we’ll plant the rubber duck orchestra in the sandbox to keep them busy forever while we cackle maniacally. Operation Party Pooper is a go." Molly double-checked her neon utility belt, carrying everything from sticky slime grenades to edible gummy lock picks, while Bill balanced a half-eaten cupcake on a finger, wiping frosting from his chin. The guard dog stationed by the back door was fast asleep, snoring softly into its foam party hat; it seemed the perfect moment to slip inside unnoticed. A string of colored lights blinked erratically above the gift-laden table, where presents of every shape and size taunted the two would-be bandits with their shiny bows. Tonight, they planned to take every toy, game, and trinket, then vanish into the night like sugar-craving phantoms straddling neon unicycles wearing capes, leaving only the faint scent of stolen frosting in their wake.