Molly adjusted the itchy feather of her parrot costume, the plastic beak obscuring her already limited view. Across the grimy van, Bill struggled to zip up his bulbous, green dinosaur suit, the zipper catching on the foam belly. Their surveillance of the party, a chaotic whirlwind of screaming children and stressed parents, was a masterclass in overstimulation. The target was a mountain of gifts, a glittering pyramid of cardboard and ribbon, left unguarded while a man in a bright blue wig attempted to make balloon animals. Bill’s muffled voice escaped from the depths of his tyrannosaurus head. “It’s a perfect target. Soft, over-caffeinated security.” Molly nodded, her own costume head wobbling precariously. The plan was simple: blend in, befriend the birthday boy, and start loading the “goodie bags” with the real loot. Bill had insisted on a smoke machine for their distraction, which Molly felt was a bit dramatic for a six-year-old’s party. The main obstacle was a hyperactive golden retriever, who seemed to view them not as fellow partygoers, but as two very large, suspiciously shaped chew toys.