Molly adjusted her night vision goggles, which were covered in glitter from the craft store reconnaissance. Bill was spreading a blueprint of the suburban ranch house across the hood of their van, stabbing at the entrance with a juice box straw. His hands trembled slightly at the thought of frosting. "We go in through the patio," he whispered, circling the sliding glass door. "One clown guards the cake." Molly examined her lock picks, recently sanitized for sticky fingerprints. The treasure waited in the living room: forty gift bags, completely unguarded while the children played musical chairs in the kitchen. Bill nodded grimly, checking his watch. The piñata drop was in ten minutes. That was their only window of opportunity. Molly tightened her utility belt stocked with party favors and silenced noisemakers. "No witnesses, no crumbs," she muttered. They synchronized their watches as the distant sound of Happy Birthday drifted through the evening air. Through binoculars, Molly spotted the target, a mountain of brightly wrapped boxes beside the chocolate fountain. Bill handed her the chloroform-soaked unicorn mask with a solemn bow. "Activate the unicorn protocol now," Bill whispered. It was time to crash the party and liberate the Legos.