Molly adjusted her black balaclava, the rough wool itching her nose as she squinted through the dense, rain-soaked hedges surrounding the property. The target was a manicured suburban backyard, currently swarming with energetic enemies. The sounds of screaming children echoed like war drums, a chaotic symphony of sugar and desperation that made her temples throb rhythmically. She felt absolutely ridiculous crouching in a hydrangea bush, waiting for the perfect moment. "It's a fortress, Bill," she whispered, lowering her binoculars with a heavy sigh. "I count three bouncy castles and a clown." Bill checked his utility belt, his hands shaking visibly as he tapped the wet fence post. The air smelled of cheap hotdogs and impending doom. He looked terrified by the sheer volume of the noise. "The clown is a decoy," he stammered. "The mother is the real threat. She’s watching the gift table like a hawk. We need a diversion." "I brought the smoke bombs," Molly said, patting her bag. "But are we sure? It’s a six-year-old's party. They swarm." "They are soft targets! We go in during the Happy Birthday song. We grab the loot and vanish." "The 'loot' is wrapped plastic, Bill. Is this worth it?" "It’s about the thrill. Plus, I saw a box that looks like an espresso machine." "You're robbing a toddler for caffeine?" "It’s a fancy machine. Move on my signal." Molly sighed, watching a sugar-fueled child tackle a piñata with a plastic bat. She racked the slide of her gun, checking the wind direction one last time before giving the thumbs up. "Fine. But if that clown attacks, you take him."