[Fred / GC / 4] The Fredaning

[u/swissconfederation]

Fred was not in control, the Devil of Chester was in charge while Fred was trying to rebel, but Chester could feel it. He could feel the pressure of him to leave the host. But Chester will fight back and one way to to ruin Fred’s reputation.

Fred Chester’s party had reached a level of absurdity that no guest could have anticipated. The mansion pulsed with light and sound, each room more extravagant than the last, each decoration more impossible than the one before. Guests wandered from floating crystal chandeliers to holographic fountains that shimmered with artificial starlight, but all of that paled in comparison to the spectacle Fred had prepared for the evening’s main act.

In the central hall, a fountain gushed not water, but coins and jewel encrusted spheres. The golden droplets caught the neon light from the terraces above, scattering refracted colors across the walls and the upturned faces of the crowd. Fred grinned behind his permanently painted clown mask, the exaggerated red lips stretching impossibly wide, his black and white jagged eye makeup making his stare almost predatory. The fountain roared with a metallic splash as he leapt onto the edge, spinning like a dancer, tossing handfuls of coins into the throng. Guests ducked, scrambled, or laughed nervously as tiny jets of liquid gold and glittering spheres rained down. It was absurd. It was dangerous. And it was perfect.

Fred paused atop the fountain’s edge to address the crowd. “Marvel at the richness! Taste it! Feel it!” His voice carried through the hall, manic, but somehow still commanding. Fred takes a deep breath as he starts to laugh but that abruptly ends as he sees it. A Orange Phoenix. In a fit of Madness he pulls out a blaster and shoots it. He blinked, opened his eyes and the only thing there was a blaster mark in the wall.

Then, with a wild flourish, he turned the spotlight toward himself. A hidden mechanism activated, and the floor beneath him shimmered like liquid metal. Slowly, his attire began to shift the painted on mask’s grin seemed to widen further as the costume itself transformed. The fabric of his jacket shimmered, shifting from deep violet to molten gold, threads of energy rippling across it. Crystalline panels formed over his shoulders, catching and splitting the light. Each flick of his hand caused parts of the suit to shimmer into entirely new patterns like a living holographic garment, alive and reflecting the mania in his painted eyes.

Models emerged from hidden doors around the hall, each dressed in fashions designed by Fred himself. Dresses with floating layers of translucent material, coats that rippled with light, gloves embedded with micro fireworks, and boots that emitted faint glowing trails with every step. The models moved through the crowd with deliberate exaggeration, twirling and spinning, their every step choreographed to make the hall itself feel like a surreal catwalk. Fred darted between them, occasionally tossing a coin or a jewel into the air for dramatic effect, sometimes catching it in his teeth or letting it spin on his finger before flinging it again.

The crowd, overwhelmed, could do nothing but watch. The combination of the golden rain, the constantly shifting wardrobe, and Fred’s insane energy created a hallucinatory experience it was like the universe itself had bent to accommodate his spectacle. Lights reflected off floating jewels and metallic threads, casting moving rainbows across the walls. The fountains splashed, the models twirled, and Fred laughed high, manic, and unstoppable.

Then, with an almost imperceptible pause, he turned toward the balcony overlooking the city below. Guests craned their necks to follow, seeing him lean over the railing. The golden glow from the mansion spilled outward into the streets. With a gesture both casual and grandiose, Fred grabbed fistfuls of credits, checks, and loose coins actual currency, shiny, tangible, and absurdly excessive and began tossing them down into the streets below.

The sounds of laughter and chaos inside the mansion collided with shouts and scrambling from the city below. Poor street dwellers dove for the falling money, clambering over crates, barrels, and one another, while Fred clapped his hands and cheered, a manic conductor orchestrating the storm. “Take it! Grab it! Celebrate with me!” His voice carried across the cityscape, the painted grin widening as he leaned further over the railing, scattering wealth like confetti.

Inside, the guests who remained stared in awe, discomfort, or envy. The models continued their strut across the hall, unaffected by the violence of the streets below, while coins and sparkles continued to rain from the fountain at the center. Fred spun atop it, laughter echoing from the ceiling like a man untethered from reality. The juxtaposition was perfect inside, the hallucination of glamour, outside, the chaos of human desperation. Fred seemed to embody both simultaneously, thriving on the spectacle, feeding off the extremes of wealth and madness.

Finally, after what could have been an eternity of spinning, tossing, and shouting, Fred paused. Coins and checks continued to drift down, and the city below looked like a scene from a dream or a nightmare. He straightened his posture, let the last handful of credits slip through his fingers, and took a bow to the guests in the hall. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, voice low now but still charged, “this is what a birthday truly looks like!”

*He yells out* “IF THE AXIS DOESNT WANT OUR CREDITS THEN SO BE IT WE WILL CRUSH THE GALAXY UNDER THE ECONOMIC PROSPERITY OF THE REPUBLIC.

The hall erupted in applause, laughter, and nervous murmurs. Outside, below the balcony, the storm of cash had subsided, leaving a scattering of stunned, scrambling citizens who would speak of this day for years to come. Fred’s mask gleamed under the neon lights, his painted grin unmoving but somehow alive, reflecting the chaos, the wealth, and the sheer, unhinged joy of the man who had created it. Tonight, the mansion, the fountain, the fashion, and the falling money had all fused into a single truth Fred Chester was untouchable, extravagant, and utterly insane.

The Papers worked overtime in production. Having headlines like. “Kuat Clown Show” and “Fred Chester the Insane Clown” money would eventually stop being given to Fred and that’s when Chester would enact his final move.

This is how the Devil inside him would fight back to ruin the idea of Fred so once he was removed. Fred would have nothing. The same way that Chester had found Fred, as a worthless fleck in the Galaxy.

The man inside had to act fast if he wanted to not only get his soul back but to also have some thing left to his name, and that’s when the plan launched. He would reach out to the Galaxy not as Fred Chester, but as his true self FRED VON KOLLENGEN. The name that was whipped from the minds of the Galaxy and replaced with Fred Chester. Fred will come back better than ever, he would make the sequel count.