Molly crouched behind the white picket fence, her black ski mask already making her forehead sweat in the afternoon sun. She peered through the slats at the chaos unfolding in the backyard: twenty screaming six-year-olds running around a bouncy castle while overwhelmed parents clutched coffee cups like lifelines. "This is it, Bill," she whispered, adjusting her utility belt filled with lock picks and what appeared to be animal crackers. "The Henderson kid's birthday party. Intelligence suggests premium gift haul." Bill squeezed beside her, his massive frame making the fence creak ominously. Sweat beaded on his bald head as he squinted at the target location. A folding table groaned under the weight of elaborately wrapped presents, each one practically screaming "expensive toy inside." "Molly, I gotta ask—are we really doing this? Stealing from children?" "We're not stealing from children, Bill. We're redistributing wealth from overprivileged suburban families." She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper covered in crayon drawings that vaguely resembled blueprints. "Besides, half these kids probably won't even remember what they got." A soccer ball suddenly sailed over the fence, bouncing off Bill's head with a hollow thunk. "Sorry, mister!" A gap-toothed boy appeared at the fence, grinning widely. "Can you throw our ball back?" Bill panicked, his voice shooting up three octaves. "Um, sure thing, sport!" He hurled the ball back with such force it nearly knocked over the birthday boy. Molly elbowed him sharply. "Smooth, Bill. Real professional." "I don't like kids looking at me, okay? They're judgmental." The party parents had started herding the sugar-crazed mob toward the house, leaving the gift table momentarily unguarded. Molly's eyes gleamed with opportunity. "There's our window. You create a distraction while I grab the goods." "What kind of distraction?" "I don't know, improvise. Maybe pretend to be the pony they ordered?" Bill looked at her incredulously. "Molly, I'm a six-foot-four bald man wearing all black. I don't exactly scream 'magical birthday pony.'" A mom emerged from the house, scanning the yard nervously. Molly ducked lower, pulling Bill down with her. "Fine, new plan. We wait for cake time, then strike during 'Happy Birthday.' Everyone will be distracted by the singing." "What if it's one of those fancy ice cream cakes? Those things are serious business." The distinctive off-key warbling of twenty adults attempting to sing in unison suddenly erupted from inside the house. Molly's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Showtime." She vaulted over the fence with surprising grace, landing in a perfect tactical roll before sprinting toward the gift table. Bill followed less gracefully, catching his belt on the fence and landing face-first in Mrs. Henderson's prize-winning petunias.