"You’re wearing a giant shark suit," Bill hissed, tugging uncomfortably at his own polyester ninja gear. "We’re robbing a six-year-old’s party, not SeaWorld." "It’s a tactical diversion, Bill," Molly snapped, peering through the rhododendrons at the unsuspecting toddlers. "The parents will assume you’re entertainment. You blend in." "I blend in like a chainsaw at a spa," Bill argued, eyeing the inflatable castle warily. "Look at the security measures. There’s a literal bouncy castle blocking the south exit. It’s a fortress." "That’s why we need shock and awe," Molly insisted, pointing a gloved finger at the mountain of wrapped boxes near the picnic table. "Listen closely. When I scream 'Pinata time,' you storm the gift table. No hesitation." "Isn't that... morally bankrupt? Stealing from kids?" "Look at the box sizes, Bill. That’s high-end electronics, not socks," she whispered, eyes gleaming under the brim of her cap. "We hit the presents, we bail, and we fence the LEGOs for millions. Now, get your dorsal fin on. I hear the clown approaching, and he looks like a biter." "Fine," Bill sighed, defeatedly zipping up the foam mouth. "But if I get stuck in the moonwalk, you’re leaving me behind."