Molly adjusted the rearview mirror, staring at the suburban house adorned with pastel balloons. "Okay, listen up. The target enters the ‘Fun Zone’ in five minutes. That’s when the magician starts pulling rabbits out of hats. Chaos ensues. We move." Bill unwrapped a candy bar, the crinkle of foil sounding like a gunshot in the silent van. "I’m just saying, isn't this crossing a line? I mean, robbing a bank is one thing. Robbing a six-year-old named Timmy? That’s dark, Molly." "It’s not dark, it’s pragmatic. High yield, zero security systems, and no guards armed with anything worse than a juice box," Molly snapped, snatching the candy bar. "Besides, these aren't just any presents. I have it on good authority there’s a limited-edition Super-Commando action figure in there. Resale value is through the roof." "What if he cries?" Bill asked, staring out the window. "What if Timmy cries, Molly? I can't handle the waterworks. Remember the nursing home job? I felt guilty for a month." "He’s going to cry regardless. It’s a birthday party. Someone’s going to spill punch on him, or he won't get the right color bicycle. We’re just accelerating the grief process. Now, look at the map." She tapped a crayon-drawn schematic on the dashboard. "Entry point is the side gate. Avoid the bouncy castle. It’s a death trap." "A bouncy castle? We have to bypass a bouncy castle?" "It’s an obstacle. If you get sucked in, you bounce, you panic, you alert the parents. Stay grounded. Stick to the perimeter. We hit the gift table, grab the biggest boxes, and retreat. Simple extraction." Bill sighed, checking his black tactical gloves, which looked absurd against his flannel shirt. "What about the wrapping paper? We don't know what's inside. We could be stealing socks. Kids get socks, Molly. I’m not doing five-to-ten for a package of Hanes." "That’s why you bring the thermal scanner," Molly said, tapping a bulky device strapped to the console. "We scan for batteries. Toys need batteries. Socks do not. We only take the battery-heavy units. That’s the gold standard." "You’re a monster. A pragmatic, efficient monster." "I’m a professional. Now, check the perimeter. Is the clown inside?" Bill squinted through the windshield. "Yeah. He just walked in. Big shoes, tiny car. He’s hostile, Molly. I can feel it." "Clowns are non-combatants unless provoked. Keep your head down. We go on my signal. And Bill?" "Yeah?" "If you see a piñata, do not engage. It’s a trap. They blindfold you and give you a stick. It’s a setup for a lawsuit." "Right. No piñatas. Steal the joy, avoid the lawsuit. I’m ready." "Good. Put on your mask. And for the love of god, take off those sneakers. You have squeaky soles." "They’re my lucky sneakers!" "They’re a liability! We are ghosts, Bill! We are the shadows stealing the holiday spirit! Now, let’s move."