The interior of the unmarked van smelled stubbornly of stale coffee and impending failure. Bill sat hunched over the center console, the lenses of his night-vision goggles whirring softly as they struggled to adapt to the bright, unforgiving afternoon sun. Outside, the suburban street was a nightmare of pastel colors and auditory torture. Music drifted from the backyard of the target residence—a jaunty, high-pitched rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus" that seemed specifically engineered to break the spirit of hardened criminals. "Visual confirmation on the prize," Bill whispered, his voice grave. He tapped a finger against the windshield. "Two large boxes, sparkling wrapping paper. Likely electronics. Maybe a gaming console." Molly sighed, the sound loud in the cramped space. She peeled the foil off a cupcake she’d found on the dashboard, inspecting it for structural integrity before taking a bite. "Bill, take off the goggles. You look like a raccoon with a thyroid condition." "Situational awareness, Molly. I’m profiling the perimeter." Bill adjusted the strap, ignoring her. "I count twelve hostiles in the bounce house. They’re jumping. That makes them unpredictable." "They’re six years old," Molly said, crumbs falling onto her black turtleneck. "They aren't hostiles. They’re just sticky obstacles." "Sticky and fast. A dangerous combination." Bill pulled a crumpled napkin from his pocket, revealing a map drawn in purple crayon. "According to my intel, the parents are distracted by the magician. We have a three-minute window while he pulls a rabbit out of a hat to secure the loot." Molly leaned over to look at the map. "Why is the swing set labeled 'Danger Zone'?" "Sliding risks. I’m trying to be professional here." "You’re trying to steal a unicorn plushie, Bill. This is a milk run." Molly brushed the crumbs off her lap and checked the rearview mirror. "Look, the clown is setting up near the gate. We need a diversion." "I have the glitter bombs," Bill offered, patting his tactical vest. "Two flash-bangs of pure sparkle." "No explosives. We talked about this. We go in soft. I’ll create a distraction by the punch bowl. You grab the gifts. We meet back at the van." "What if the dog engages?" Bill asked, his eyes wide behind the green lenses. "The target has a Golden Retriever. They can sense fear." "Give it a hot dog. It’s a dog, Bill, not a Navy SEAL." Molly reached for the door handle. "Are you ready?" Bill took a deep breath, steeling himself. He pulled his ski mask down over his face, instantly making the temperature inside the van unbearable. "Operation Birthday Bash is a go. Remember, no witnesses." "We are not hurting children, Bill." "I meant emotionally. We’re stealing their joy." Bill nodded solemnly. "Let’s crush their dreams." "Just get the presents, you maniac." With a final click, the door slid open, and the two thieves stepped out into the blinding daylight, ready to commit the lowest-stakes felony of their careers.