Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about that painting you made of the night sky ever since you painted it. Its like an itch in your brain that won’t leave you alone. Even after you put it away and turned the lights off in your workshop for good measure, you can’t stop scratching at the thought of it. It’s driving you crazy. You’re starting to feel like you’re coming down with something, a fever. You’re sweating and your hands are shaking. It feels like you’re losing your mind. You’re struck by an irrational certainty that something about you is changing irreversibly. You feel a feverish, inexplicable urge to paint yourself.

You pull out a new canvas and try to paint yourself... but halfway through, a bone-deep sense of disassociation hits you like a tidal wave. Who are you painting? Is that supposed to be you...? Oh god, you’re not yourself anymore, you know it. You can’t remember what your face looks like. You just paint a gaping, dark hole there instead. You’re not you. You’re sure of it suddenly. This isn’t you either. But you don’t remember who you’re supposed to be anymore. This isn’t a painting of yourself at all...

Suddenly your perspective shifts and you are looking at a painting of yourself.

......That’s you...? You stare in bewilderment. Your painting looks... unwell and wild-eyed. He’s glistening with sweat. Wait. No. He’s... sweating paint?? Is that really what you just painted...? You don’t remember it looking quite like this. This doesn’t seem right...

“H-huh? What happened...?” you exclaim.

Wait.

You didn’t say that. Your painting did. You’re just about to respond when you realize that you can’t feel your face at all. You reach up to feel it, but...

Your face.

Is not there.

It's-It’s not there...! There’s nothing where your face should be but empty space!

...

Well. Your painting is holding a palette with all the right colors. How convenient—you feel the urge to paint yourself again. You pluck the palette right out of his hands. Your double just stares at you in shock. He looks moist.

Original Fred: Oh. That’s right, I’m me. I’m still me...

...What? You ignore the strange, irrelevant stray thought as you go about setting a new canvas on your easel. You need to fix this.

You try to paint your face... but you feel CONFUSED. What happened to you? Why is there two of you? Where is your face? You don’t understand this at all...

You get a bit lost in the motions of painting as you dwell on all your questions. As you’re puzzling over your current situation, you end up getting a little carried away on the abstract shapes that are really just there to fill up the rest of the space around your painted face. However, the moment you put the finishing touches on the pointlessly over-rendered blob shape and lift your brush, the painting springs out of the canvas and lands in your studio!

“Ta da! It is I, Frederic! For all your Frederic needs,” it declares, striking a ridiculous pose. You just stare at it in shock. The newly alive portrait pays you no mind, continuing on self-importantly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some very important Frederic-ing to do.” With that declared, the painting scuttles away with an unnervingly undulating gait on the leggy blob that’s now its body.

Well then. You no longer feel CONFUSED. It seems that everything you paint comes to life. But that’s not what you were trying to do. You weren’t trying to create some weirdo doppelganger, you were just trying to get your face back! Maybe you just need to try again. You dimly note that your other self doesn’t seem to be in the studio anymore. He must’ve left at some point. You grab another canvas and go back to your easel.

You try to paint your face... but you can’t stop thinking about that painting of the night sky. It itches at you... Again. It’s clearly what started all of this. What did it do to you?? As you think of it, your mental image suddenly shifts into focus and you finally see what was wrong with it, in full clarity. Oh my god, what the hell is that thing?? It was in the sky the whole time?? And you painted it! How could you possibly have missed that until now?!? You feel TERRIFIED...

Scared Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! WHAT WAS THAT THING?!?!?!

Ouch. Your poor eardrums. That scream felt like it was echoing out straight from your mind. You no longer feel TERRIFIED. You look down at your new creation. Oops, that one came out terrible. It gazes up at you for a moment with an expression of stupefied terror on its distorted face. Then the moment passes, and it slithers away faster than you can react. Well... Whatever. You didn’t want that one anyway, it didn’t come out right. Way too many eyes.

Ok, let’s try this again. You set up another new canvas.

You try to paint your face... but now you’re just thinking about that other self you saw earlier. You guess he must’ve been the original one. Not you. Thinking it over like this, it’s obvious now that you’re the painting. You’re the one who doesn’t have a face after all. But why did you have to be the painting? Why couldn’t it have been him instead!? Hell, why couldn’t you have just been PAINTED with a FACE?!?!? He still had HIS face! Why did this have to happen to you?? It isn’t fair at all... you feel JEALOUS!

“WHAT the HELL?” The painting itself interrupts your thoughts. Oh dammit, this one looks messed up too. You can’t use this.

“What! USE me!? Fuck you asshole, I don’t exist to be used!!” Whatever. You don’t care.

“Hey, what are you even doing anyway. Painting your face a bunch of times? What, are you gonna do it again now? Is that it? ‘Cause you haven’t fucked up enough times already?” Excuse you?? Doesn’t it have anything better to do than sit here harassing you?

“You created me like this, jackass. Deal with it.” Ugh. You do your best to ignore the heckling voice as you get yet another canvas out.

“Heh heh, I wonder what this guy’s gonna do next. I bet he won’t paint his face again. He’s a real wildcard, always knows how to keep ‘em guessing.” Ugh!!! Asshole. Well, you no longer feel JEALOUS. You slam the canvas onto the easel and get to work for what feels like the hundredth time.

You try to paint your face... but you feel FRUSTRATED. WHY isn’t this WORKING!? You just want your face back, is that too much to ask!? What is the point of having these powers if you can’t even do that much! That’s all you want!!! FUCK! You. Want. Your. FACE!!! RAAGH! Your paintbrush sweeps across the canvas with much more force than necessary...

The Fred Who Bites comes out of the painting and bites you. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!” it cries, as its many jaws and fangs clamp down into you even harder.

Gah!! You frantically flail backward until you shake off the mess of snarling teeth that’s suddenly attached itself to you. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear! I-I’m trying to stop but its not working! I’ll try to get some space...”

Your newest painting sheepishly backs away from you, biting and snapping aggressively the whole while. It takes its face with it. As you watch it slowly shuffle off, you no longer feel FRUSTRATED...

“Wow, ha ha, he really did it again! Nice one idiot! I wonder when he’ll learn he’s just fucking things up worse with all this,” the hideous green failure pipes up again from the other side of your studio.

“Hey, I heard that!”

You radiate murderous intent in its direction while loudly thinking about how it should go away.

“Sheesh, I’m going, I’m going! No need to be so loud, I can take a hint y’know.” It totters off towards the other end of your apartment, in the direction of your bedroom.

The voices are starting to get a little overwhelming, your head is hurting from hearing all of them thinking at once. This really isn’t working. But you can’t just accept this! One more time. Just one more time, you can make it right this time, you can make this right...!!

You try to paint your face... but you have a sinking feeling that it’s really not going to work this time either. And why would it??? You’re just doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, like you’re insane. Is this just it for you? This is the rest of your life? You’re really just going to be some faceless approximation of yourself forever?? NO! No, no, no!!! This HAS to work...! You can’t live like that! You’re in DESPAIR!

Your rushed, frantic brushstrokes come to life. It looks really bad. Oh god. This is the worst one yet. The painting opens what was supposed to be its mouth, and...

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

It shrieks like a banshee and bolts off into the depths of your workshop. The shrieking doesn’t get any quieter.

Shadow Fred: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

You are no longer in DESPAIR.

You just feel numb.

...

...

...

Fuck it.

You still know of one other face you could use.

Where would he be. The storage closet? You grab the keys and move with purpose through the dark workshop.

...

The door’s been left ajar. An inviting glow spills out through the crack into the darkness. You creep silently towards it.

You push the door open and quietly step forward into the light.

There he is. He’s sitting in the corner by a spare easel. He looks a bit different than the last time you saw him. Paint drips off of him.

He turns around and notices you. You can’t help but notice that his face, while clearly made entirely out of paint now, still looks exactly how it should. Yes. Perfect.

“Oh. That’s right. You.”

Yes, that’s right... You.

You stalk towards him without a sound. He barely has time to let out a “W-wait, what are you-” before you’re digging your fingers into the edge of his face and yanking harshly. It stretches with a wet sucking sound for a second, before tearing all the way off in a single chunk of paint. It drips all over your hand. You put it on.

“Ah. That’s better.” It feels like its always been yours.

Faceless Fred: Augh! M-my face!!

The original falls to his knees, clutching the dark, gaping hole where his face used to be with all four of his arms. You turn around and leave before he gets his bearings, shutting the door behind you and locking it.

Faceless Fred: H-HEY, WAIT..!

You can barely hear him pounding on the door through the pounding of your head.

Faceless Fred: NO NO NO! YOU MONSTER!! GIVE ME MY FACE BACK!

As you stumble back through the workshop in the dark, nursing your headache and distracted by chattering cross-talk, you trip on a stupid painting that’s sticking out into the walkway. God. You think that you hate art a little bit. It’s not a very Frederic-like thought. But maybe that’s okay.

You make your way to the front room. Oh. The wriggly purple one is already in there, spinning around in a circle like a cat chasing its tail.

“Oh hi friend! Friend Fred.” It hardly pauses its spinning.

You don’t respond as you approach it. You’re sick of it suddenly. You want it to die. You lunge forward with your hands outstretched to try and grab at it—but it leaps out of the way just as suddenly with a shocked expression. You lunge again...

“HELP HELP I’M BEING KILLED!” it hollers as it scurries around the room.

Despite your best efforts and genuine murderous intent, it becomes clear that the squirrelly painting can anticipate your movements somehow. After a few failed attempts to corner it, it eventually scampers into the fridge, shutting the door behind it with a thud. It doesn’t open when you yank on it. You vaguely register something about a “fridge fred.” over the din. Whatever. Good enough.

Now what. You have your face, but your situation has hardly improved. You can barely think with this unbearable racket in your head. Ugh... you need to think!

...

Well. The front door of the apartment is unlocked. Maybe someone else will wander in. Here like this, you’re in the ideal position to intercept them. You’d be the first face they see. Heh. Face.

You should probably lock the other doors so nothing interrupts the little scenario you just thought up. And maybe get your story straight. As you’re locking the second one, you notice a green smudge on the key ring. Wait. Where’s the storage closet key!? Did it fall off or something? Ugh, whatever. Nothing you can do about it now.

Nothing to do now but wait.

You just hope your acting skills are good enough. You have a feeling you’re going to be putting them to the test if you want to survive this.

Chapter Text

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about that painting you made of the night sky ever since you painted it. It’s like an itch in your brain that won’t leave you alone. Even after you put it away and turned the lights off in your workshop for good measure, you can’t stop scratching at the thought of it. Its driving you crazy. You’re starting to feel like you’re coming down with something, a fever. You’re sweating and your hands are shaking. It feels like you’re losing your mind. You’re struck by an irrational certainty that something about you is changing irreversibly. You feel a feverish, inexplicable urge to paint yourself.

You pull out a new canvas and try to paint yourself... but halfway through, a bone-deep sense of disassociation hits you like a tidal wave. Who are you painting? Is that supposed to be you...? Oh god, you’re not yourself anymore, you know it. You can’t remember what your face looks like. You just paint a gaping, dark hole there instead. You’re not you. You’re sure of it suddenly. This isn’t you either. But you don’t remember who you’re supposed to be anymore. This isn’t a painting of yourself at all...

Suddenly your perspective shifts and you are looking at a painting of yourself.

......That’s you...? You stare in bewilderment. Your painting looks... unwell and wild-eyed. He’s glistening with sweat. Wait. No. He’s... sweating paint?? Is that really what you just painted...? You don’t remember it looking quite like this. This doesn’t seem right...

“H-huh? What happened...?” You exclaim.

Wait.

You didn’t say that. Your painting did. You’re just about to respond when you realize that you can’t feel your face at all. You reach up to feel it, but...

Your face.

Is not there.

It’s-It’s not there...! There’s nothing where your face should be but empty space!

...

Well. Your painting is holding a palette with all the right colors. How convenient—you feel the urge to paint yourself again. You pluck the palette right out of his hands. Your double just stares at you in shock. He looks moist.

Original Fred: Oh. That’s right, I’m me. I’m still me...

...What? You ignore the strange, irrelevant stray thought as you go about setting a new canvas on your easel. You need to fix this.

You try to paint your face... but you feel CONFUSED. What happened to you? Why is there two of you? Where is your face? You don’t understand this at all...

You get a bit lost in the motions of painting as you dwell on all your questions. As you’re puzzling over your current situation, you end up getting a little carried away on the abstract shapes that are really just there to fill up the rest of the space around your painted face. However, the moment you put the finishing touches on the pointlessly over-rendered blob shape and lift your brush, the painting springs out of the canvas and lands in your studio!

“Ta da! It is I, Frederic! For all your Frederic needs,” it declares, striking a ridiculous pose. You just stare at it in shock. The newly alive portrait pays you no mind, continuing on self-importantly, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some very important Frederic-ing to do.” With that declared, the painting scuttles away with an unnervingly undulating gait on the leggy blob that’s now its body.

Wriggly Fred: I’m Frederic! Yaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Original Fred: Urrgh...! This is... this is starting to hurt. I. I need to paint... hnk, augh...!

Well then. You no longer feel CONFUSED. It seems that everything you paint comes to life. But that’s not what you were trying to do. You weren’t trying to create some weirdo doppelganger, you were just trying to get your face back! Maybe you just need to try again. You dimly note that your other self doesn’t seem to be in the studio anymore. He must’ve left at some point. You grab another canvas and go back to your easel.

You try to paint your face...

Wriggly Fred: Yaaaaaaay la la la la la la la la
Original Fred: AUGH. IT HURTS IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP!!! AUGHHH

...Can whatever’s making that noise pipe down? You’re trying to focus.

Neither of the strange, disembodied voices even pause. Ugh... You guess you’ll just have to ignore them.

You try to paint your face... but you can’t stop thinking about that painting of the night sky. It itches at you... Again. It’s clearly what started all of this. What did it do to you?? As you think of it, your mental image suddenly shifts into focus and you finally see what was wrong with it, in full clarity. Oh my god, what the hell is that thing?? It was in the sky the whole time?? And you painted it! How could you possibly have missed that until now?!? You feel TERRIFIED...

Original Fred: GOD IT HURTS MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITST-
Tumor Fred: -OPMAKEITSTOPAAAAAUUUUUUGHZXCXBCXZ
Scared Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! WHAT WAS THAT THING?!?!?!

Ouch. Your poor eardrums. The overlapping screams felt like they were echoing out straight from your mind. You no longer feel TERRIFIED. You look down at your new creation. Oops, that one came out terrible. It gazes up at you for a moment with an expression of stupefied terror on its distorted face. Then the moment passes, and it slithers away faster than you can react. Well... Whatever. You didn’t want that one anyway, it didn’t come out right. Way too many eyes.

Scared Fred: OH MY GOD. THAT WAS HORRIBLE. I’m going to throw up...
Original Fred: ...oh. It stopped. Yes...
Tumor Fred: FGHFXLGHJGKLJHGFHJGLKCGHXVJXG

Ok, let’s try this again. You set up another new canvas.

Tumor Fred: HJKZJKXCKJXZVXJVJVHXHJHCXZZXVCZCXZV
Original Fred: ...YES! I have ascended!! I am Frederic of many faces!! I HAVE ALL THE FACES!
Scared Fred: Oh my god. Oh my god. I need to calm down.....

Hold on. What was that about faces...?

You pause as you try to listen in to that particular thought.

Original Fred: I AM A GOD HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Scared Fred: Ok. I’m fine. I’m calm.
Wriggly Fred: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Tumor Fred: ZXXCVNXCVHWHYWHY WHY WHYYYYYY

......Right.......

You go back to ignoring everything but your own problem.

You try to paint your face... but now you’re just thinking about that other self you saw earlier. You guess he must’ve been the original one. Not you. Thinking it over like this, it’s obvious now that you’re the painting. You’re the one who doesn’t have a face after all. But why did you have to be the painting? Why couldn’t it have been him instead!? Hell, why couldn’t you have just been PAINTED with a FACE?!?!? He still had HIS face! Why did this have to happen to you?? It isn’t fair at all... you feel JEALOUS!

“WHAT the HELL?” The painting itself interrupts your thoughts. Oh dammit, this one looks messed up too. You can’t use this.

“What! USE me!? Fuck you asshole, I don’t exist to be used!!” Whatever. You don’t care.

Godhead Fred: Hey what the fuck.
Toxic Fred: Piece of shit.
Original Fred: Hng... what...? I feel strange...
Wriggly Fred: Oh no! You look like you’re in horrible pain! Oh! I know what will help! I’ll paint a picture of myself. It’s the perfect idea!!
Tumor Fred: HURRY...........

“Hey, what are you even doing anyway. Painting your face a bunch of times? What, are you gonna do it again now? Is that it? ‘Cause you haven’t fucked up enough times already?” Excuse you?? Doesn’t it have anything better to do than sit here harassing you?

“You created me like this, jackass. Deal with it.” Ugh. You do your best to ignore the heckling voice as you get yet another canvas out.

Toxic Fred: Jackass!
Bright Fred: Oh no! You look like you’re in horrible pain! Let me try to help.
Tumor Fred: PLEASE.........
Godhead Fred: Alright, so this is just my situation now? Coool cool cool cool.
Original Fred: Oh, you. You’re... my painting...?

“Heh heh, I wonder what this guy’s gonna do next. I bet he won’t paint his face again. He’s a real wildcard, always knows how to keep ‘em guessing.” Ugh!!! Asshole. Well, you no longer feel JEALOUS. You slam the canvas onto the easel and get to work for what feels like the hundredth time.

Tumor Fred: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEHURRYPLEASE.
Godhead Fred: Dammit. This sucks. This is awful.
Bright Fred: Oh no. This... this is a bit too much for me. I’m sorry!
Original Fred: Why am i in the storage closet...? I don’t remember coming here.
Wriggly Fred: Glad I could help! Byeee hahahaha
Tumor Fred: FUCK

You try to paint your face... but you feel FRUSTRATED. WHY isn’t this WORKING!? You just want your face back, is that too much to ask!? What is the point of having these powers if you can’t even do that much! That’s all you want!!! FUCK! You. Want. Your. FACE!!! RAAGH! Your paintbrush sweeps across the canvas with much more force than necessary...

The Fred Who Bites comes out of the painting and bites you. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!” it cries, as its many jaws and fangs clamp down into you even harder.

Gah!! You frantically flail backward until you shake off the mess of snarling teeth that’s suddenly attached itself to you. “I didn’t mean to do that, I swear! I-I’m trying to stop but its not working! I’ll try to get some space...”

Fred Who Bites: This feels really weird...
Scared Fred: Maybe I should look in a mirror? I wonder what I look like now...
Wriggly Fred: Nyooooom hahahaha
Godhead Fred: What am I supposed to do with this?? Maybe I should get a shtick.

Your newest painting sheepishly backs away from you, biting and snapping aggressively the whole while. It takes its face with it. As you watch it slowly shuffle off, you no longer feel FRUSTRATED...

“Wow, ha ha, he really did it again! Nice one idiot! I wonder when he’ll learn he’s just fucking things up worse with all this,” the hideous green failure pipes up again from the other side of your studio.

“Hey, I heard that!”

Wriggly Fred: Yeah, me too!
Original Fred: This is all a mess. Why did I do all of this...?
Godhead Fred: AAAVAST MORTALLL no that sucks.

You radiate murderous intent in its direction while loudly thinking about how it should go away.

“Sheesh, I’m going, I’m going! No need to be so loud, I can take a hint y’know.” It totters off towards the other end of your apartment, in the direction of your bedroom.

Toxic Fred: Ugh.. damn these annoying tiny limbs...!
Scared Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Bright Fred: Huh, is someone going away?
Tumor Fred: AAAUUUUHUHUHHUUUUUUHHH
Fred Who Bites: Oh no, he’s still mad at me! I’m sorry, I’m leaving as fast as I can!!
Wriggly Fred: Nyooooooooooooom!!!
Scared Fred: WHY DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!?!?!? NO NO NO NO NO!
Godhead Fred: HHHARK MORTALLL yeah that’s better.
Toxic Fred: And damn these annoying voices!!

The voices are starting to get a little overwhelming, your head is hurting from hearing all of them thinking at once. This really isn’t working. But you can’t just accept this! One more time. Just one more time, you can make it right this time, you can make this right...!!

You try to paint your face... but you have a sinking feeling that it’s really not going to work this time either. And why would it??? You’re just doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, like you’re insane. Is this just it for you? This is the rest of your life? You’re really just going to be some faceless approximation of yourself forever?? NO! No, no, no!!! This HAS to work...! You can’t live like that! You’re in DESPAIR!

Scared Fred: NO NO NO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!
Tumor Fred: IT HUUUURTS OH GOD IT HURTS
Original Fred: Ugh. I can barely hear myself think.
Toxic Fred: Faceless fuck. I should kill him for this...

Your rushed, frantic brushstrokes come to life. It looks really bad. Oh god. This is the worst one yet. The painting opens what was supposed to be its mouth, and...

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

It shrieks like a banshee and bolts off into the depths of your workshop. The shrieking doesn’t get any quieter.

Shadow Fred: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Toxic Fred: ARGH!!!
Scared Fred: Ow.
Tumor Fred: OW. OWOWOWWWWW EVERYTHING HURTS SO BAD
Godhead Fred: Man, I could really go for a cigarette right now.
Fred Who Bites: Ouch...
Wriggly Fred: OW...! Who put this wall here.
Bright Fred: Huh. I wonder what’s going on anyway...

You are no longer in DESPAIR. You just feel numb.

...

...

...

Fuck it.

You still know of one other face you could use.

Shadow Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH
Godhead Fred: Wait no. I should say that in character.

Where would he be. The storage closet? You grab the keys and move with purpose through the dark workshop.

Scared Fred: No no no calm down calm down!! Okay. Deep breaths...
Toxic Fred: I should kill all of them!
Tumor Fred: ...NEED...

The door’s been left ajar. An inviting glow spills out through the crack into the darkness. You creep silently towards it.

Original Fred: This transformation seems permanent...
Bright Fred: Why do I look so different?
Scared Fred: 1... 2.... 3.....
Godhead Fred: III AM ABOVE ALL EARTHLY DESIRESSS

You push the door open and quietly step forward into the light.

Scared Fred: Aaaaaaaah. You can do this. C’mon.
Shadow Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE DON’T LOOK AT ME
Tumor Fred: ...MEDICINE.....

There he is. He’s sitting in the corner by a spare easel. He looks a bit different than the last time you saw him. Paint drips off of him.

Godhead Fred: Yeah there we go.
Fred Who Bites: Where should I go now?
Original Fred: Huh? Is someone there...?

He turns around and notices you. You can’t help but notice that his face, while clearly made entirely of paint now, still looks exactly how it should. Yes. Perfect.

Tumor Fred: HHHHHRGHG
Shadow Fred: STAY AWAY STAY AWAY STAY AWAY STAY AWAY
Wriggly Fred: Wheeeeeeeeeee yaaaaaaaaaay~
Scared Fred: Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts...

“Oh. That’s right. You.”

Yes, that’s right... You.

You stalk towards him without a sound. He barely has time to let out a “W-wait, what are you-” before you’re digging your fingers into the edge of his face and yanking harshly. It stretches with a wet sucking sound for a second, before tearing all the way off in a single chunk of paint. It drips all over your hand. You put it on.

“Ah. That’s better.” It feels like its always been yours.

Faceless Fred: Augh! M-my face!!
Scared Fred: Just ignore... everything else.....
Shadow Fred: LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE
Fred Who Bites: Oh, this corner looks out of the way.
Wriggly Fred: La la la la la la

The original falls to his knees, clutching the dark, gaping hole where his face used to be with all four of his arms. You turn around and leave before he gets his bearings, shutting the door behind you and locking it.

Wriggly Fred: Wow, these voices are so annoying.
Faceless Fred: H-HEY, WAIT..!
Shadow Fred: STAY AWAY FROM ME DON’T LOOK AT ME
Tumor Fred: ...ALMOST....
Godhead Fred: LLLOOK UPON MY FORM AND uh... BBBE NOT AFRAIDDD?

You can barely hear him pounding on the door through the pounding of your head.

Faceless Fred: NO NO NO! YOU MONSTER!! GIVE ME MY FACE BACK!
Shadow Fred: NO NO NO NO NO
Toxic Fred: Well, it’s about time you did the obvious thing!
Fred Who Bites: O-Oops! Well, it’s probably fine if that table’s a little gnawed on.
Bright Fred: Who are all these voices....?

As you stumble back through the workshop in the dark, nursing your headache and distracted by chattering cross-talk, you trip on a stupid painting that’s sticking out into the walkway. God. You think that you hate art a little bit. It’s not a very Frederic-like thought. But maybe that’s okay.

Scared Fred: Okay, this isn’t ideal... but I think I can be calm about this now...
Tumor Fred: ..........THERE..............
Toxic Fred: Yoink! Hahahaha.
Shadow Fred: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

You make your way to the front room. Oh. The wiggly purple one is already in there, spinning around in a circle like a cat chasing its tail.

“Oh hi friend! Friend Fred.” It hardly pauses its spinning.

Wriggly Fred: La la la la la la la la la la
Faceless Fred: I WON’T LET YOU GET AWAY WITH THIS.
Godhead Fred: WWWE HAVE ASCENDEDDD... BBBEYOND HUMANITYYY... or should it be above humanity? No...
Fred Who Bites: A little bit of bite marks add character! Maybe.

You don’t respond as you approach it. You’re sick of it suddenly. You want it to die. You lunge forward with your hands outstretched to try and grab at it—but it leaps out of the way just as suddenly with a shocked expression. You lunge again...

“HELP HELP I’M BEING KILLED!” it hollers as it scurries around the room.

Scared Fred: ...YOU’RE BEING WHAT!?!? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!
Shadow Fred: DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE
Fred Who Bites: Should I just stand here then...?
Tumor Fred: SAVE ME IBUPROFEN.

Despite your best efforts and genuine murderous intent, it becomes clear that the squirrelly painting can anticipate your movements somehow. After a few failed attempts to corner it, it eventually scampers into the fridge, shutting the door behind it with a thud. It doesn’t open when you yank on it. You vaguely register something about a “fridge fred.” over the din. Whatever. Good enough.

Wriggly Fred: Oh! Oh! I’m going to become a fredcicle! I must become one with the fridge. Fridge Fred.
Scared Fred: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. I NEED TO HIDE...!
Faceless Fred: I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.
Fred Who Bites: W-what!? No, don’t kill each other!
Scared Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Wriggly Fred: Fridge Fred!!!
Toxic Fred: Ugh, SHUT UP.
Godhead Fred: Dammit, I can’t be out of ideas already. C’mon, think...
Shadow Fred: DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE

Now what. You have your face, but your situation has hardly improved. You can barely think with this unbearable racket in your head. Ugh... you need to think!

Godhead Fred: GGGAZE UPON MY FORM- no. FFFEEL AWE- no. BBBASK IN MY HOLYNESSSS... eh, no.
Faceless Fred: DAMMIT. YOU BASTARD, LET ME OUT!!!!!
Tumor Fred: IBUPROFEN PLEASE SAVE MEEEEEEEE
Wriggly Fred: I’m a little fridge boy.
Shadow Fred: DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE
Scared Fred: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Bright Fred: ......I think something might’ve happened to me...
Toxic Fred: Gee. YOU THINK!?!?

...

Well. The front door of the apartment is unlocked. Maybe someone else will wander in. Here like this, you’re in the ideal position to intercept them. You’d be the first face they see. Heh. Face.

You should probably lock the other doors so nothing interrupts the little scenario you just thought up. And maybe get your story straight. As you’re locking the second one, you notice a green smudge on the key ring. Wait. Where’s the storage closet key!? Did it fall off or something? Ugh, whatever. Nothing you can do about it now.

Nothing to do now but wait.

You just hope your acting skills are good enough. You have a feeling you’re going to be putting them to the test if you want to survive this.