“Are you sure about this, Molly?” Bill whispered, his voice a nervous squeak. “Breaking into a *children’s party*? That feels… low, even for us.” Molly adjusted her fake beehive wig, a shimmering testament to her commitment to disguise. “Bill, think of the payload. Imagine. A veritable cornucopia of consumerist glee. We’re talking Gameboys, those terrifying singing dolls, enough Lego to build a small country. It’s a goldmine, Bill. A childhood treasure trove.” “But the kids, Molly! They’ll be there. Tiny, sticky agents of chaos. One of them’s bound to see us in our ill-fitting clown costumes.” “Which is why,” Molly produced two oversized, rainbow-striped jumpsuits from her duffel bag, “we blend in. Who’s going to suspect the extra clowns? We’re practically a surprise guest. A *very* well-intentioned, gift-acquiring surprise guest.” Bill stared at the jumpsuit. “Don’t we usually go for more… subtle approaches? Trench coats? Silken gloves?” “Subtlety is for bank tellers and people who haven’t spent the last week dodging security drones at the city’s artisanal cheese festival. This is a party, Bill. Noise, distraction, sugar highs. Perfect cover.” “Sugar highs,” Bill repeated, a tremor in his voice. “You think they’ve got cake?” “Probably. And ice cream. And potentially a bouncy castle. But we’re not here for dessert, Bill. We’re here for the spoils. Now, the intel suggests the presents are all gathered in the den. A veritable Fort Knox of plastic and wrapping paper.” “And how do we get past the parents?” “Ah, the parents. The final boss battle. I’ve identified the prime distraction: Mrs. Henderson. Apparently, she’s prone to epic, theatrical pronouncements about party etiquette. We create a minor disturbance near the buffet – a strategically ‘dropped’ tray of miniature quiches, perhaps – and while she’s… *addressing* the situation, you and I slip into the den.” “Minor disturbance? Molly, you once set off a small firework in a pet shop to cover your escape from a particularly stubborn hamster.” “An unfortunate misunderstanding involving a rogue laser pointer. This will be much more controlled. Think of it as… performance art. A culinary catastrophe.” Bill sighed. “So, quiches. And then what? We just grab everything?” “Not *everything*, Bill. We’re professionals. We go for the high-value items. The electronic toys, the designer dolls, anything with a brand name that screams conspicuous consumption. We’ll need a few strategically placed pillowcases. And, if we’re lucky, we’ll be out before anyone notices the absence of Mrs. Higgins’ prize-winning… poodle that she insists on dressing up as a fairy.” “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” “Naturally. This is going to be our masterpiece, Bill. The ‘Little Tykes’ Larceny.’ The ‘Barbie Bonanza.’ The… the ‘Kiddie Cache Caper.’” “It’s a mouthful, Molly.” “Precisely! Memorable! Now, help me with this zipper. It’s surprisingly tight for a clown costume.”