Molly adjusted the focus on her tactical binoculars, zooming in on the pastel bunting flapping violently in the suburban wind. The target was a pristine two-story colonial, currently swarming with tiny, chaotic humans hopped up on high-fructose corn syrup. It was a fortress of joy, and it was going down. "Visual confirmation on the prize," Molly whispered, her voice grave. "Top of the pile. The Ultimate Mega-Rex 3000. That thing retails for three months of rent on the hideout." Bill sighed heavily, sinking lower in the driver's seat of the unmarked van. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting the woolen mask that was already making him sweat. "I still say we hit the liquor store next door. Less screaming, more merchandise we can actually use." "Focus, Bill. This is a professional job. The liquor store has silent alarms and guards. The six-year-old birthday party has blind spots created by inflatable castles." She tapped the crinkled blueprint spread across her lap. "We go in soft, hit the gift table, and exfil before the magician cuts the ribbon." "The magician?" Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "You didn't tell me there was a wizard involved. Does he have guards? Attack rabbits?" "He’s a guy named Gary who pulls scarves from his pants, Bill. Keep it together." Molly pointed a gloved finger at the side gate, where a frantic mother was currently arguing with a clown about face paint prices. "You take the perimeter. Disable the balloon arch. That thing is a trip hazard and a noise trap waiting to happen." Bill looked at the gate with disdain. "What’s my extraction route if the pinata bursts? I am not getting covered in cheap candy." "You run. You don't look back. If you get confetti on you, burn the suit." Molly cracked the window slightly, listening to the chaotic chorus of 'Happy Birthday' wafting through the humid air. "Remember, we aren't just stealing toys. We’re stealing dreams." "We’re stealing wrapped cardboard, Mol. Let's not romanticize it." "It’s the principle of the thing. Now, gear up. I’ve got the smoke bombs disguised as party favors." She patted her utility belt. "Cherry scented." Bill reached into the back and grabbed a crowbar, frowning at the pink ribbon tied around the handle. "You really think I need heavy machinery for a taped-up box?" "You never know," Molly said, checking the magazine of her modified foam-dart blaster. "Some of that wrapping paper is industrial grade. Don't get sloppy." "Right. No sloppiness." Bill opened the van door, stepping out into the bright afternoon sun. "Let’s go ruin a toddler's day." "For the glory," Molly corrected, stepping out behind him and checking her watch. "We have a three-minute window before the cake cutting. Move out."