The balloons bobbed lazily against the ceiling of the community center, their bright colors clashing with the grim determination on Molly’s face as she adjusted her clown nose for the third time. It wasn’t the most dignified disguise, but then again, neither was the oversized polka-dot bow tie Bill had insisted on wearing. "You look like a rejected circus mascot," she muttered, though the words came out muffled by the rubber nose. Bill grinned, twirling a lollipop between his fingers like a tiny, sugary baton. "And you look like someone who just lost a bet with a mime. But hey, at least we blend in." He gestured toward the swarm of shrieking children tearing through the room, their parents blissfully unaware that two professional thieves were casing the joint for something far more valuable than cake. Molly sighed, watching as a particularly aggressive five-year-old knocked over a tower of gift bags. "You realize we’re stealing from kids, right? That’s a new low, even for us." Bill shrugged, pocketing a handful of candy from the snack table. "Think of it as redistributing wealth. These brats have enough toys to open their own Walmart. We’re just… reallocating resources." He nodded toward the mountain of presents piled under a glittery banner that read *HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TIMMY!* "Besides, Timmy’s dad is some tech billionaire. He won’t even notice." Molly groaned, but her fingers twitched toward the nearest gift bag, already calculating the resale value of whatever high-end gadget was inside. The clown nose itched. The mission was on. And if they played their cards right, by sunset, they’d be rich—or at least rich enough to afford therapy for the emotional damage of this heist.