Molly adjusted the magnification on her tactical spyglass, zooming in on the suspicious accumulation of cardboard boxes clustered under the gazebo. The location was pristine, a suburban oasis of innocence where the only real threat came from a sugar crash. Bill sat in the driver's seat, aggressively hand-shelling a carton of hard-boiled eggs while the engine hummed with low, menacing power. "The security is slack," Bill muttered, spitting a shell into the ashtray. "Unless those bouncy castles have infrared lasers, we walk right in." "Those are just balloons," Molly corrected, scanning the backyard for traps. "We need to grab the ribbons and run." "Who brings a vacuum to a party?" Bill asked, looking confused before shrugging. "Only a pro knows how to clear a path." She adjusted her stealth sneakers, the squeak-proof foam promising silent progress. The mission required precision, a surgical strike on the gift table. The parents were currently distracted by a magician who kept accidentally vanishing his own toupee. "Do you have the vacuum?" "Portable, battery powered." "Let's do it." Bill kicked the van into gear, grinning wildly. "Operation Take-the-Tylenol is a go."