"Alright, Bill, mission parameters are clear," Molly whispered, tapping the crumpled flyer with a sparkly unicorn. "Operation Loot the Little Ones is a go." Bill, a man whose entire wardrobe seemed to be shades of grey, nodded slowly. "You sure about this, Molls? They've got... juice boxes." "Precisely! High-value targets. And think of the loot! Stuffed animals galore, video games practically begging to be liberated from their shrink-wrap prisons." Molly’s eyes gleamed. "Our getaway vehicle is parked two blocks over. The clown car. Discreet." "The clown car?" Bill’s voice creaked. "Are we going to get any money from this? My rent is due." "Bill, we're not doing this for money. We're doing it for the sheer, unadulterated thrill of pilfering from pint-sized patrons! Plus, I heard Brenda's little Timmy got a drone. A *drone*, Bill!" Molly adjusted her dark sunglasses, despite the dim lighting. "Now, remember the signal. If you hear a kazoo solo, it means the cake has been deployed. That's our cue." "A kazoo?" Bill sighed. "I thought you said we were going for the presents, not musical accompaniment." "Details, Bill, details!" Molly shushed him. "Just stick to the plan. And try not to trip over any tiny toddlers."