“Right, so the target,” Molly whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant scream of a child gleefully unwrapping something shatterable, “is located approximately two hundred yards past that monstrosity of a bouncy castle. Codename: Operation Gilded Gift.” Bill squinted, his face illuminated by the flickering fairy lights. “You’re sure about this, Mol? It’s a *baptism of noise* in there. And tiny humans. Lots of tiny humans.” “That’s the beauty of it, Bill. They’re distracted. Focused on sugary delights and the existential dread of waiting for their turn on the slide. Perfect cover.” Molly consulted a crumpled napkin. “According to intel, the pièce de résistance, little Timmy’s undoubtedly ill-gotten gains, are all consolidated on a single table, right by the cake.” “The cake,” Bill mused, rubbing his chin. “Always the cake. Do you think Timmy’s parents are seasoned gift-guardians? Any booby traps? Maybe a strategically placed glitter bomb?” “Highly doubtful. Their primary concern will be preventing a sugar-induced meltdown. The presents are merely secondary to the immediate crisis of *too much fun*. Our window is during the ‘Happy Birthday’ rendition. Maximum attention divergence.” Molly unfolded a small, stained map of what appeared to be a garden. “Entry point is through Mrs. Henderson’s prize-winning petunias. She’s notoriously afraid of spiders, so a quick rustle and she’ll be barricaded inside with a can of Raid.” “Petunias. Lovely. My knees are already protesting. And what about the…the *festivities*? The games? I’m not exactly agile enough to win a sack race anymore.” Bill shuddered. “Last time I tried, I ended up with a dislocated shoulder and a reputation for being ‘that weird uncle who always cheats’.” “You won’t be participating, Bill. You’ll be the extraction specialist. Once I’ve assessed the bounty, I’ll signal. You’ll be stationed by the shed, where I assume you’ve stashed the getaway vehicle.” “Ah yes, the getaway vehicle. My trusty shopping trolley, cleverly disguised as an abandoned garden gnome collection.” Bill grinned. “It’s still got that squeaky wheel, which adds a certain…musicality to our hurried departures. Very avant-garde.” “Just try not to attract too much attention. Remember the Great Hamster Hoopla deb—” “Okay, okay, I remember. The hamster was unexpectedly agile. And I didn’t *plan* for it to end up in Mayor Thompson’s toupee.” Bill winced. “This time, it’s just presents. No live creatures allowed.” “Exactly. Minimal collateral damage. And maximum profit. I’ve got my eye on that rumoured Lego Millennium Falcon. Priceless, I tell you.” Molly’s eyes gleamed. “Imagine the possibilities, Bill. We could finally afford that solid gold hamster wheel we’ve always dreamed of.” “For you, Mol. For you. I’m more of a practical man. Perhaps a slightly less squeaky shopping trolley.” Bill sighed. “You know, I have a sneaking suspicion that Timmy might have a particularly well-behaved golden retriever who’s surprisingly good at fetch. Just a thought.” “Don’t get cute, Bill. Operation Gilded Gift is go. Now, about your disguise…” Molly eyed Bill’s tweed jacket. “Are you sure a suspiciously large pile of party balloons isn’t going to draw too much attention?”