Molly slammed her hand onto the sticky folding table, flattening the crayon-drawn blueprints of the suburban living room. The air in the getaway van grew heavy with anticipation. "Walk me through the perimeter again," Bill whispered, needlessly adjusting his tactical balaclava. "Entry point Alpha is the bouncy castle," Molly said, pointing to a scribbled red circle. "We wait for the sugar crash at two. When Pogo acts out, we move." Bill narrowed his eyes at the diagram. "What about the opposition?" "Hostile. A dozen five-year-olds fueled by pure fructose," she replied, checking her gear belt. "Plus, Timmy’s mom holds a black belt in passive-aggression." "And the payload?" "LEGO sets. Maybe a Switch if Grandma feels guilty enough." Bill smirked, imagining the massive score. "Jackpot. Do we have the specialized equipment?" Molly nodded slowly, reaching into a duffel bag to reveal a giant rubber nose. "I packed the party poppers and the distractions." "Professional as always." "Remember," Molly warned, her eyes dark and serious. "Don't engage Pogo unless absolutely necessary. That clown has nothing left to lose." Bill cocked his finger like a pistol, staring solemnly at the juice boxes. "Let’s go ruin a birthday."