Molly adjusted the binoculars, the plastic rim digging into her eye sockets. Through the window, the enemy was assembling. Tiny, sticky humans ran in circles, fueled by sugar and malice. A banner reading "Happy 5th Birthday, Timmy" hung crookedly above the cake table, which was currently serving as a staging ground for the prize: a mountain of wrapped boxes. The intel suggested a gaming console and a premium bicycle were among the assets. She sketched a tactical diagram on a crumpled coffee cup, outlining the perimeter. The primary obstacle wasn't the alarm system, which was surprisingly archaic, but the erratic movement of the hostiles. A clown twisted balloons into sword shapes near the entry point, creating a natural chokepoint. "We go in when they cut the cake," Molly whispered. Bill shifted in the driver's seat, looking through the windshield with a furrowed brow. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous tic he had developed since their last job at the retirement home went sideways. The guilt of stealing bingo prizes still weighed heavy on his conscience. "Are we the bad guys here?" Bill asked softly. "Only if we get caught," she replied sharply. The plan was solid. They would breach the side gate while the children were blindfolded, swap the present pile with decorative rocks, and vanish into the suburban night. It was a victimless crime, assuming Timmy didn't have a security detail.