Bill scrutinized the aerial surveillance photos, which were actually just grainy Google Earth images of a suburban ranch house. The perimeter was guarded by a chaotic swarm of screaming seven-year-olds hopped up on sugar—a volatile threat indeed. He adjusted his night-vision goggles, feeling absurd as he crouched behind a minivan parked three houses down. The objective, a mountain of wrapped presents sitting ominously near a bouncy castle, represented millions in high-grade plastic electronics. He checked the charges for the back gate, sweating profusely beneath his heavy tactical vest. Molly emerged from the shadows, clutching a large burlap sack like a reverse Santa Claus. She looked deadly serious, scanning the yard for angry chaperones while calculating the wind speed. She wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek, preparing to breach the patio. "Is the party clown gone yet?" she whispered sharply. Bill peered through the bushes, spotting a terrified entertainer fleeing the scene. "The coast is totally clear," he reported back. "Watch out for the piñata." Molly nodded, signaling the start of the operation. "Let's go steal that loot." They were professionals, after all, and nobody could stop them from stealing every last toy robot in that zip code.