Molly adjusted her cat-eye glasses, which were perched precously on her nose. “So, just to recap, Bill, we’re breaking into a children’s birthday party. The ‘Tiny Titans of Tomorrow’ party, specifically. Meaning we’re not just dealing with the usual overprotective parents, but parents who think their offspring are destined for world domination before they even hit double digits.” Bill, a man whose fashion sense seemed permanently stuck in 1970s leisurewear, scratched his chin with a fingern he’d clearly forgotten to trim since 1970. “Well, the intel says they’ve got a bouncy castle. That’s our entry point, Molly. Strategic infiltration via inflatable entertainment.” “Strategic infiltration via glorified human slingshot, you mean,” Molly retorted, tapping a pen against a particularly garish invitation adorned with a glitter-encrusted rocket ship. “And what about the ‘Birthday Bot’? The flyer says it dispenses cake and ‘future leadership advice’.” “That’s where the EMP comes in, darling,” Bill said with a wink that involved more eyelid than actual eye. “Tiny zap, no robot. Just a very confused pile of metal and circuits contemplating its life choices.” Molly sighed. “You brought the EMP. The one you built out of a broken toaster and a Walkman?” “It worked on Mrs. Henderson’s robotic vacuum cleaner! Had it dancing the cha-cha for an hour before it exploded.” “That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, Bill.” “Details, details! The core objective remains: acquire the presents. These parents, Molly, they don’t just buy plastic junk. They buy educational, artisanal, ethically-sourced, organic, free-range, carbon-neutral, conflict-diamond-free, hand-carved-by-elderly-monks-in-Tibet gifts for their precious progeny. We’re talking resale value through the roof.” Molly paced the cramped apartment, her boots thudding softly on the threadbare carpet. “And your plan for the actual present acquisition? Because I imagine there will be at least three parents with degrees in amateur security and a healthy dose of competitive parenting vigilance.” “Distraction. We need a good distraction. Something chaotic. Something… glittery.” Bill snapped his fingers. “Glitter bombs! Non-toxic, of course. We’re not monsters. Just opportunistic entrepreneurs.” “Glitter bombs to distract the parents while we… what, exactly?” Molly raised an eyebrow, a clear sign she was preparing to dismantle his entire scheme with a single, well-placed observation. “While we become one with the bouncy castle. Camouflage. We blend in with the chaos. Imagine it, Molly. A sea of sugar-fueled children, a rainbow of glitter, and us, silently siphoning off the good stuff. Like gift-wrapping ninjas.” Molly stopped pacing. She looked at Bill, then at the invitation, then back at Bill. “Gift-wrapping ninjas in a bouncy castle. You’re right. It’s so utterly ridiculous, it just might work.” A mischievous glint appeared in her eye. “But you’re the one who has to get the cake from the confused Birthday Bot. I refuse to engage with a robot that offers ‘future leadership advice’.” Bill beamed. “Deal! I’ll even get you the corner piece with the extra frosting.” He pulled a crumpled blueprint from his pocket, labelled “Operation: Present Plunder.” “Now, about the exit strategy… I’m thinking giant inflatable slide.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course you are.”