Molly adjusted the oversized, shiny polka-dot onesie, nervously watching the stream of sugar-fueled terror approach the front gate. The inflatable bubble wrap shield crackled ominously with each precariously slow step. Beside her, Bill slouched in a fuzzy blue raccoon suit, his shoulder hunched against the persistent itch of the synthetic fur. He squinted at the GPS device strapped to a festive candy cane. She checked the watch which was a giant rubber ducky, double-checking the itinerary for the Apres Ski getaway. "The target is approaching the cake table," she noted, ignoring the intense glare from a toddler holding a balloon. Bill saluted with a furry paw, completely ignoring the "No Entry" sign taped to the gate in crayon. "Roger that. Let's infiltrate the cake first." They charged forward, a silent wall of polyester and resolve, ready to loot the unsuspecting birthday boy of all his birthday riches.