The inflatable castle hissed rhythmically under the suburban moon, a vinyl beast awaiting its inevitable puncture. Molly adjusted her night-vision goggles, which were currently being impeded by the sequins on her tactical tutu. She checked the perimeter of the backyard, dodging a stray juice box and a plastic lightsaber. The mission was perilous; the target was a pile of brightly wrapped rectangular boxes guarded by a slumbering golden retriever and thirty exhausted parents. Bill checked his watch and whispered, "The clown departs at twenty-one hundred hours." Molly nodded, her face smeared with camouflage grease and leftover birthday cake. The stench of desperation and fermented apple juice hung heavy in the humid air. They crept past the sandbox, their boots crunching ominously on rogue Lego bricks. Bill winced, stifling a scream as a plastic knight pierced his heel. He leaned in close and hissed, "Watch out for the bubble machine tripwire." She sidestepped the sticky hazard with the grace of a cat burglar. A single misstep would alert the toddler sentries. They reached the gift table, their eyes gleaming with avarice. Molly drew a burlap sack from her belt, ready to liberate the building blocks and miniature sirens from their domestic prison. The heist was finally underway.