Molly adjusted her sequined clown nose while Bill wrestled with a balloon giraffe deflating with rude noises. The suburban bungalow blazed with colorful fairy lights and the ear-splitting sonic assault of thirty sugared-up children screaming about Minecraft. Molly checked her utility belt where titanium grabber claws rested between face paints and a seltzer bottle. Bill pointed at the invitation taped to the rusty mailbox, his face pale beneath greasy white greasepaint. "We're doomed," he whispered. "They wanted pirates, not clowns. This is complete madness." Molly blew a pink bubble. "Clowns are totally invisible to parents. Please trust me." She outlined the plan: Bill would juggle flaming batons near the giant bouncy castle while she raided the gift table using grabber claws to avoid fingerprinting the colorful wrapping paper. If suspicious parents interfered, she had industrial-grade sleeping powder hidden inside a confetti cannon. Bill nervously adjusted his bow tie, squeezed into oversized shoes and waddled toward the front door past the neon "Happy Birthday Tyler" banner. Molly cracked her knuckles and patted her pocket, scanning for security cameras. This heist would be easier than stealing candy from a baby, mostly because the candy came in expensive Lego boxes stacked conveniently beside the unmarked fire exit.