Bill adjusted his binoculars, the cheap plastic lenses fogging instantly from the sheer intensity of his gaze. Inside the community center, the target demographic was running wild. A sea of sugar-fueled six-year-olds spun in chaotic circles, entirely oblivious to the tactical extraction about to unfold. Molly checked her tactical watch, tapping the face with a gloved finger. She wore a utility vest that clung too tightly, brimming with tools better suited for a bank vault than a bouncy castle anniversary party. The sensory assault of screaming voices and popping balloons was overwhelming, creating a sonic barrier that only professionals would dare breach. "The clown is our greatest threat," Bill whispered, adjusting his grip. "I'll neutralize the funny man," Molly replied coldly. "Check," said Bill. The prize sat on a folding table near the back: a glittering mountain of wrapped boxes. It was high-stakes piracy involving Disney merchandise. Bill clicked his pen, a nervous habit picked up during his time inside. He calculated the trajectory of a rogue beach ball. This wasn't just a theft; it was a commando raid through a war zone of juice boxes. If they moved during the cake presentation, nobody would notice the two adults shoving gifts into a burlap sack. It was the perfect crime, assuming nobody noticed the getaway car was a minivan with a missing hubcap. They waited for the signal, two shadows against the wall.