Bill adjusted the strap on his high-tech tactical goggles, staring intensely at the suburban bungalow currently decorated with streamers proclaiming "Timmy Turns Six." The target was a veritable fortress of juvenile joy, guarded by the most dangerous species on earth: over-caffeinated toddlers and exhausted parents. He wiped sweat from his brow, scanning the perimeter for roving clowns or uncles with bad jokes. "The dog house looks unguarded," Bill whispered. Molly rolled her eyes, adjusting the industrial-grade grappling hook on her utility belt. They weren't stealing diamonds or state secrets; they were stealing sixty boxed LEGO sets and a mountain of plush unicorns. It was low, even for them, but the resale value on the black market for exclusive action figures was astronomical. She checked her watch, timing the exact arrival of the balloon artist. "We must move when the bunny appears," she hissed. Bill nodded, trembling slightly. He couldn't believe his illustrious career had devolved into plundering kindergarteners, yet the aggressive interest rates on his credit card didn't pay themselves. They synchronized their watches, preparing to dash across the manicured lawn and ruin a six-year-old’s life forever.