Molly adjusted her neon sombrero, squinting through the mesh eyeholes of a realistic llama costume. Bill struggled to zip up his matching purple suit, inhaling the scent of cheap polyester and moral decay. The target was a chaotic backyard filled with screaming six-year-olds, a fortress of sticky fingers. Their objective sat on a picnic table: a mountain of wrapped boxes containing gaming consoles and rare dolls. Bill checked his watch, sweat beading on his forehead beneath the hot afternoon sun. He looked terrified of the toddler mob. "Bill, tell me we are ready to go right now," Molly whispered. Molly nodded, checking the grappling hook hidden inside a hollowed-out piñata. The plan required them to blend in as unpaid entertainment, create a diversion involving a spontaneously combusting cake, and abscond with the loot under a blanket of confusion. It was a risky play, but the payoff was worth the public shaming. They needed to strike fast before the professional clown arrived to twist balloons into animal shapes. That guy was a real professional. "I say we steal every single present in this yard," she commanded. The two llamas sprinted awkwardly toward the bouncy castle, ready to ruin childhoods forever. Nothing would stop them.