A balloon is a very maneuverable thing. It can be manipulated into anything and used to its advantage. A giraffe for a little child with a painted face at a festival. A mode of transportaion when a human-sized picnic basket is hung from it. Just a pretty thing to be released into the air in numbers at weddings. But people don't know about the dark side of balloons. Enter... Balloon Fight Club.
Fighters enter a fierce battling arena. An arena that seems pleasant at first, but is really a death trap covered in pretty, pretty perfume. The seductive perfume calls you in, but can you get out? It's night time out. People get crazy during the night. Things may get serious. Things may get intense. You don't know when your beaked opponent is going to just smash a beer bottle off the cold, wet grass and go on the assault. You gotta watch your back, man. You gotta watch your balloons.
For the balloon is your lifeline. Your balloons get popped, it's like your life gets popped. Just a single poke, and just that instant, it's all over. It's over, your done, you're fish food.
Lurking in the murkey depths lies a monster. A monster of a monster. A giant fish with the teeth of Jaws - no, a robot Jaws. Just when your opponent thinks they're safe, and humbly floats towards the ground form their parachute, BAM, chicken soup for the fishy's soul. A lone air bubble rises from the murky depths.
Fresh bonus points for you.
It gets rough out there. Your helmet may not be enough. Those creatures out there are animals. Hundreds of feet above the ground you drift, combatting the beaked opposition. You're outnumbered. They fly towards you in different colors, certain color patterns depicting flight mastership status.
Back to where ye came from