The air in the abandoned toy factory hummed with a nervous, giddy energy. Molly traced a grimy finger over the blueprints spread across a rusty filing cabinet. "Okay, Bill, phase one," Molly whispered, her voice raspy. "The distraction. You remember Mr. Wiggles?" Bill, a mountain of a man with kind eyes and a perpetually confused expression, nodded vigorously. "The inflatable clown? Oh, yeah. He's a real… distraction." "Precisely. We set him off near the bouncy castle. Maximum chaos, minimum suspicion. While the tiny humans are shrieking and parents are scrambling, we move in." "And the presents?" Bill asked, his brow furrowed. "That’s where you shine, big guy. You’ll be our designated 'present wrangling specialist.'" "Wrangling? Like a cowboy?" Molly stifled a laugh. "More like a very efficient, silent bulldozer. We grab everything – the LEGO, the dolls, even those weird sparkly unicorn things the girls seem to love. Quick in, quick out. Think we can do it?" Bill grinned, his face lighting up. "For the loot? Always, Molly. Always."