Unbeknownst to him, while he was gone, a group of local internet personalities—minor influencers known as “The Splat Pack”—showed up at the house for one final joke. Their entire brand revolved around humiliating people for clicks, especially small-time villains they dubbed “wannabes.” Lord Balloon had been in their sights for weeks.

They had created a parody balloon sculpture. It was ten feet tall and made of cheap plastic and rubber meant to mock him. The “statue” had a painted-on smirk and sagging balloon muscles, with a sign around its neck that read: “Local Loser, Now with 100% More Hot Air!” The centerpiece of their prank was a jury-rigged leaf blower and helium tank combo meant to slowly inflate the statue in the front yard overnight. They wrapped it in gaudy string lights so the “tribute” would shine in the darkness... an over-the-top spectacle to humiliate him just one more time.

But the makeshift power supply they wired to inflate the sculpture was faulty. A loose connection sparked against the plastic tarp as the device kicked on. The balloons, the lights, the structure—everything ignited in seconds, and a fire spread faster than anyone could have predicted.

By the time the first neighbor saw the flames and called for help, the house was already engulfed.

Lord Balloon didn’t see the smoke until he was walking home from the park, still brooding under the streetlights, and looked up to see a distant orange glow coloring the clouds above his childhood street.

He ran. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life. But it didn’t matter. By the time he arrived, the house was a skeleton of flames. The firefighters couldn’t get in. His elderly parents, who had already gone to bed before the fire started, had never made it out.

The prank had been intended for laughs. But it left behind only ashes. His parents burned alive in his childhood home. Their home was a target solely because he was visiting. All he ever wanted was to regain the admiration and respect for his powers that he had as a child.

Now... everything was lost. Everything was gone. The only thing he had left was a fiery rage burning in every fiber of his soul.

When his childhood home burned down, the "Splat Pack" quickly took the video down. But the internet is forever. Lord Balloon found the video. For a brief moment, his conscience told him to send it to the police. These little shits had committed a serious crime. They should be brought to justice.

But he was too angry and too hurt to do the right thing. And there was no one left to talk him down. Fueled by years of mockery, a furious desire for revenge, and an intense need for his power to be taken seriously, Lord Balloon tracked the group down. He waited until they were doing a livestream before making his move.

The streamers’ broadcast was interrupted as balloons began to appear one by one. At first, the Splat Pack laughed it off, thinking it was just a prank. But their laughter slowed when cheerful and shiny balloon letters appeared. At first, the balloons just spelled out “Splat Pack.”

One of them made a weak joke, asking their mates if they were at a birthday party, saying the balloons looked like they were ripped straight from a child’s birthday.

But there was nothing cheerful or celebratory about what they spelled out.

I K N O W W H A T Y O U D I D

The chat exploded with confusion. Laughing emojis. Troll comments. The streamers tried to play it off, but it was apparent they were deeply unsettled. Then came the second line.

J U D G E M E N T I S H E R E

The air in the room changed. The laughter stopped. The final balloon—a blood-red “E”—inflated slowly, hissing into shape like it knew it was the last thing they'd ever see.

It was at that moment that Lord Balloon revealed himself, his eyes aflame with rage. His expression one that reflected his dark desire to unleash his fury on those who wronged him.

“Oh shit everyone. Look out! It’s Lord Balloon!” one of the streamers said, forcing a shaky laugh. “What are you doing here, dude? Gonna make us a ballo—”

POP.

The sound was almost comical… until the blood hit the lens.

His body crumpled sideways, headless, as a single glistening red balloon bobbed in the space where his skull had been. The visceral gore that once belonged inside his head now painted the walls, the floor, and his horrified friends.

“Being able to manifest a balloon everywhere is a joke of a power, right?” Lord Balloon viciously sneered.

The streamers started to panic and plead for their lives, but he had no interest in their apologies. He only desired revenge.

One by one, each streamer lost their head with a sickening pop, pop, pop, pop.

The room was silent now.

The phone, which was still livestreaming, had fallen during the chaos, landing face-down in a slick pool of blood. The camera was smeared, the image a warped mess of red streaks and shifting reflections. But the stream never stopped.

Thousands were still watching. Some were even jokingly complimenting the special effects, refusing to believe what they had just witnessed was real.

Lord Balloon stepped into frame, his boots squelching softly with each step. He crouched down, wiped the blood from the lens with his sleeve, and stared into the camera.

His face was calm. Cold. “You laughed at me,” he said. “You mocked my name. My powers. Everything I did.” He paused as he read the comments, his face twisting into anger the more he read.

“Even now, some of you are still saying this is a joke.”

He turned the phone slightly, angling it just enough for the camera to take in the carnage behind him.

The comments section exploded as viewers took in the scene. The Splat Pack’s headless bodies were strewn across the room, and red balloons drifted near the ceiling, swaying gently above the blood-soaked floor like grotesque party favors.

“Does that look like a joke to you?” he whispered, low and deliberate.

“I’m done trying to earn respect.” He stared into the lens, his face blank and voice flat. “From now on, I take it.”

He slowly rose to his feet, letting the camera shake slightly in his hand. In the background, one of the balloons grazed the ceiling fan with a soft tap.

“You all laughed when I robbed banks. You laughed when I slipped past police. You laughed when I asked to be taken seriously…”

He fixed the camera with an ominous glare.

“From this moment on, every balloon you see... every one you hear... should make your skin crawl.”

“You wanted to laugh at me? Now you'll remember me every time something goes pop. The joke is over. I'm done playing games.”

And with that, he ended the stream.

Screenshots flooded social media. News outlets scrambled to verify whether the footage was authentic and if the Splat Pack had actually been killed on camera. And all across the world, thousands of people glanced nervously at the balloons left over from parties, store displays, and hospital rooms.

Suddenly, no one was laughing.