Molly adjusted her oversized novelty glasses, peering through the binoculars at the chaotic fortress below. The suburban backyard was a veritable minefield of balloons and sticky surfaces, heavily patrolled by hyperactive six-year-olds hopped up on blue icing. It was a tactical nightmare defended by a terrifying woman in a tutu who was currently barking orders about organic juice boxes. She signaled to Bill, who was sweating profusely inside a purple dinosaur costume that smelled distinctly like old regret and cheap polyester. The payload sat precariously near the refreshment table: a shimmering mountain of wrapped boxes containing everything from expensive action figures to highly disappointing knit socks. Stealing it required absolute precision, a silent ballet of larceny performed amidst the shrieking chaos of musical chairs. They had to bypass the bouncy castle perimeter, dodge the toddler sentries, and extract the goods before the cake cutting ceremony officially began. The stakes had never been higher. "Confirm the back gate is open for the extraction," Molly whispered sharply. "The path is clear and ready for us now, boss," Bill replied. It was time to ruin a birthday.