Content Warning: Psycho Shatter 1988: Black Vice X Weiss Vice contains content that some readers might find disturbing, triggering or uncomfortable. This includes sexually explicit activities, strong language, hateful language and slurs, extreme violence, violence against children, vore, extreme racism, genocide, and a wide spectrum of grotesque or otherwise disturbing content. Reader discretion is advised.
Psycho Shatter 1988: Black Vice X Weiss Vice
Atrocity 03: The Black Awakening
Date: Sunday, August 14, 1988
Time: 02:58 UTC – 19:58 LT
Location: South Central Los Angeles, California
Night had taken over the city of Los Angeles, but a city like this never sleeps, especially not on a night like this. It was a hot summer. Racial tensions were at an all-time high. And people needed to let off some steam.
Away from the city lights, tucked away in a large, darkened venue, history was being made. And despite all the soundproofing, you could still feel the vibrations of change, of passion, of anger, from the outside. This was the first concert from the musical group N.F.J.— N***az Fer Justice— after dropping their debut album on August 8, 1988. A ‘controversial’ record that dared to express the experiences of young Black men living in one of the biggest cities in America and the injustices they faced on the daily.
The media would have you believe it’s nothing but filth. A display of violence, disrespect for the law, and obscene language that should be denied any protections. But to all the people in the venue… they knew the truth, and were witnessing the show of the summer!
It was dark, cluttered, a good five degrees hotter than it was outside, and the sound system was more loud than anything. The crowd was almost entirely Black and young. A mixed kid here and there, a couple Latinos, a handful of ladies, most of whom came here with their man, but there was an undeniable unity in those present, and they moved as one. There wasn’t a single person in this flood of obscured faces who wasn’t completely hyped. All were hooting, hollering, clapping, and cheering along, valiantly chanting “fuck tha police!”
Emcee: “Fuck tha police comin’ straight from the underground! A young n***a got it bad ‘cos I’m brown, and not the other color, so police think they have the authority to kill a minority!”
The beats were pumping, the rapping was verbose and punchy, yet what made this show resonate was the fact that it spoke straight from the heart, and said nothing but the truth. The six young Black men on stage, lit up bright, were speaking straight outta their souls, laying their anger, fury, and desire for change out in the open. It was raw, vulgar, and the only people who would object to this would be oppressors and cowards.
Emcee: “Fuckin’ with me ’cause I’m a teenager, with a little bit of gold and a pager. Searchin’ my car, lookin’ for the product, thinkin’ every n***a is sellin’ narcotics.”
This wasn’t close to a systematic reform. But to spur a revolution, you need to first voice the unspoken truth. The frustration, rage, and desire to be seen as human beings by their government and the pigs they employed to ‘keep them in line.’ This cycle of oppression has persisted for over 300 years, and while they made strides in the past three decades, now was not the time to get complacent. Now was the time to get loud!
Emcee: “A young n***a on the warpath. And when I’m finished, it’s gonna be a bloodbath. Of cops dying in L.A. Yo man, I got something to say.”
Now was the time to rise up and deliver something new. Not just Black music. Not just the good old funk or rhythm and blues. It needed to be something to get people pumped, get them mad, get them angry, get them willing to fight for a future their forefathers were denied. And with enough conviction, with enough capital… they might just get there.
Emcee: “Takin’ out a police would make my day. But a n***a like me don’t give a fuck to say!”
The people in attendance lacked awareness of this fact— they were too caught up in the excitement all around them— but they could feel this truth. It was a joyous time, a time of hope, and with the set only half over, the crowd and emcees were still running on full blast.
But then the fucking pigs had to show up and ruin everything.
It started with a knock. Too quiet to be heard over the music and with everybody as close to the stage as possible, there was no way anybody was hearing anything. So, they got louder, harder, tearing down the metal door with a battering ram until it flew off its hinges with a bang loud enough to get the attention of those in back. Despite this, the show still went on, the emcees blissfully unaware of what was happening beyond the crowd, still rapping and repping the truth.
Emcee: “That’s me, with the criminal behavior. Yeah, I’m a gangsta, but still, I got flavor! Without a gun and a badge, what do you got? A sucker in a uniform waiting to get shot!”
People turned around as the cops came pouring in, ready to end the party by any means necessary, but… what they saw was not the LAPD they expected. Despite teetering the line, those motherfuckers were still human by definition, and what the crowd saw… wasn’t. They wore the uniform, carried guns and clubs, but beneath their stretched out clothes and armor, they were bestial beings. A fucked-up crossbreed between a human and a rat, with wrinkly pinkish skin, with clawed hands and a slithering little tail falling outta their asses. Their bodies were hunched over as they tried to stand, but they still pointed their guns straight and, with the barrel aimed at the ceiling, they started firing.
Ratfuck Cop: “GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR! HANDS AGAINST THE WALL, N***ERS!”
Their voice was raspy and coarse, barely legible, but you didn’t need to understand a freak like this to know they meant business.
The crowd panicked, the emcees stopped their rapping, and the people in attendance realized that the best option— the only option— they had was to run like hell. There were hundreds of them, and only about a dozen of these fucked-up looking pigs. There was no way they could get all of them.
The people ran for the backdoors, shouting and screaming as they packed themselves into the metal doors and ran over each other in the tight corridors. They wanted to help each other, but when a crazy motherfucker is flinging around a gun like a toy, even the wisest of minds can lose sight of civility.
While people clamored through these bottlenecks, the cops stormed in and started shooting without even looking. In a crowd this thick, every bullet was bound to hit someone, bring them down, and force their friends to leave them behind. Not because the concert go-ers were selfish, but because they knew one simple fact. That the only thing worse than losing a friend is getting killed trying to save them.
In the frantic rush, a young Black man, no older than sixteen, tripped on something and fell on the concrete floor. The impact scraped his knee raw, so any hope of running away just got a helluva lot slimmer. Downed, he looked back at the cops rushing in and pointed their guns at the crowd, cackling like the beasts they were as they emptied semi-automatic pistols and shotguns. As a sitting target, it was only a matter of time before this kid caught a bullet, and no sooner did he think this thought than he saw it. The flash of a muzzle, aimed directly at him.
Time slowed down as he anticipated his demise. The frantic and vibrant sounds of terror faded away, and the only thing he could hear was his rapidly beating heart and slow steady breaths. He wanted to duck, dodge, do something to avoid this fate, but his mind was moving too fast for his body to react, and all he could think of was… how hopeless this situation was.
His still ongoing childhood played back before his mind. From the cradle, to now. To his grave. Just as he accepted this, just as he closed his eyes so he didn’t need to see this final moment… he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder.
His heartbeat slowed. The reality around him froze, and as he looked forward, he saw the bullet, a mere foot from hitting him right between the eyes. A finger touched it, and it fell to the ground, a metal ding echoing throughout the room. The young man slowly looked up at this hand and saw it belonged to a man in a simple three-piece suit. Black jacket, white shirt, black tie. As basic as could be. He craned his neck back to see this man’s face, and saw that he was a… White man.
A man with hazel eyes, short dark brown hair that looked like he cut it himself, a pale yet fairly youthful complexion, and an impressive stature. He was not quite seven feet tall, but definitely passed two meters. He towered over the young Black man, staring at him with the eyes of someone who had seen the full spectrum of human experiences, yet saw more tragedy than anything else. It was more than enough to frighten the young man, but his fears weakened when this suited enigma spoke in a calm, monotone voice.
Man in Suit: “Something happened to our world. A foreign presence has corrupted the planet and infected its population, turning ordinary humans into its powerful pawns. This presence, whatever it may be, has launched this world into a war worse than anything it has ever seen. Unless we intervene, half of humanity will be extinguished in three hours. 90% of it within a single day. And you… will die in a fraction of a second.”
The man in a suit then crouched down, bringing himself to eye level with the fallen young Black man.
Man in Suit: “I saw what you were doing. Rejoicing in declarations of injustice, pleading for change to this world. Little do you know, you have the power to change the world within you. The power to defeat these monsters— these Whiterats. So, what do you say? Will you accept my help, take up arms, and put an end to this vicious presence hellbent on destruction?”
Black Teen: “I… I want to fight them. I-I wasn’t just saying ‘fuck tha police’ for nothin’.”
Man in Suit: “Good, good. What’s your name?”
Black Teen: “G-Gabe.”
Man in Suit: “Well, Gabe, I hate to pull this on a minor, but when the White Devils are thirsting for genocide, we need all the help we can get.”
Gabe: “Who… what are you?”
Man in Suit: “My name’s Zach. Zach Vespa. I know I might look like a tool of the enemy, but trust me when I say that I’m on your side. And so are all your people, whether they want to be or not. So awaken this power, and distribute it among the diaspora. Embrace… Black Power!”
As Zach made that declaration, he tapped his finger on Gabe’s forehead. As their skin made contact, Zach vanished, the reality around Gabe resumed, and every sensation returned at once. He was in the middle of a shootout. The sounds of gunfire and shouts spread all around him, and before he could even theorize on what this Black Power was, he saw another muzzle flash. Another one of these monsters— Whiterats as Zach called them— had fired a bullet straight at his head, and this time… time didn’t freeze. The bullet hit his skull, pierced his brain, and all sensation went dark. Everything went to… black. And from this fear, from this despair, from this darkness… he realized what Zach was talking about. He recognized the power that he had within. And as he found this Black Power… he was reborn!
A jolt of electricity coursed through his body, his eyes sprang open, and with the bullet hole still in his forehead, he screamed from the bottom of his soul.
Gabe: “GRYAAAAAAHHH!”
Gabe called forth a wind that defied the rules of reality to surround him in a gale of darkness, obscuring and protecting his body as his power manifested itself unto reality. The sight was ignored by the Whiterat cops as they continued to gun down innocent civilians and those running in the dark for their lives. But after a scant few seconds of agonizing screaming, the winds dissipated, revealing Gabe, his body… transformed.
Instead of being made into a monster— a demon— like the freaks before him, Gabe assumed the opposite form. He had ascended into a higher being. An… angel. One clad in dark purple and golden robes, with black wings crafted from pristine feathers, with a flowing mane of elegant dreadlocks that flowed from his head down to his shoulders. His previously dark brown eyes glistened a preternatural purple. His brown skin was as dark and beautiful as it ever was and his body was made taller and stronger than ever before.
After making his presence known, he flourished and flapped his mighty wings, sending a tempest laced with black feathers at the Whiterats at the entrance. The feathers were pushed with enough force to penetrate the bodies of the Whiterats and cast aside their gunfire, but even as their skin was ruptured with holes three inches deep, they did not react. It was as if these creatures lacked the neurotransmitters to feel pain.
Still, this new threat was enough to draw the attention of the Whiterats, who aimed their weapons at Gabe and started firing.
Whiterat Cop: “Shoot that n****r dead!”
They unleashed bullet after bullet, shell after shell, but as Gabe held out his hand, he was able to form a barrier. A barrier that sent every last bullet bouncing back to the monster who fired it. The more they shot, the more holes appeared in their bodies, and even if they were immune to all pain, they fell just the same. Luminescent white blood oozed out from their persons, and they fell to the floor below.
As the threat before him weakened, Gabe closed the distance, sending back bullets as he grabbed one of the Whiterats, ripping off the helmet they wore to get a good look at their face. At their soulless white eyes, their pig-like snout, and their mouth overflowing with teeth. Looking at this creature’s repulsive mug, Gabe scoffed.
Gabe: “I always knew you were a bunch of animals.”
With the Black Power looming in his body, Gabe took his mighty wings and flapped them as hard as he could, forming a violent wind. A tempest with enough might to send every Whiterat flying through the concrete walls behind them, shooting their blood-soaked bodies out into the street. They remained laced with black feathers, burrowed into them with all the force and impact of a bullet, deep enough to shatter their bones. Their flesh burned from proximity to these feathers, and while some tried to stand up and fight, their broken limbs forced them to stay down.
Gabe left the venue to finish off these freaks with as much mercy as they showed his people tonight. However, as he stepped out into the streets, he saw the true scale of what he was fighting against. He was not dealing with just twelve or so Whiterats. He was dealing with… hundreds.
They were running through the street, chasing people down the sidewalk, climbing up buildings, crashing through windows, and biting their way into cars. It was a damn infestation! And for as powerful as Gabe might be, he wasn’t a one-man army. The conviction and confidence he had just a moment ago left his body, and as fear took control, he felt something brush past his head. Make that several things.
The Whiterats before him developed bullet holes in their bodies, turning them from fierce predators into dying sacks of flesh. Gabe turned around and saw some of the people who were at the venue, armed with guns. It made sense. While a concert was no place to bring a weapon, there were plenty of people who valued their own protection, and a pistol was a great way to guarantee that in south-central L.A.
One of these gun-wielding men, his face obscured by a black baseball cap, was an emcee who took the stage just a few minutes ago. He positioned himself in front of the main doors of the venue, where a crowd was gathered. They were scared, confused, in need of guidance… and he provided it to them, speaking loudly, clearly, and confidently, not even needing a mic.
Emcee: “The time for running is done for! I always knew some of these guys were evil, but now look at them! They’re fucking monsters! All of ’em! And if they’re gonna start killing like this, we will too! Everybody, grab a fuckin’ weapon! A gun— a bat— a fucking brick— ‘cos it’s open season on these motherfuckers.”
The crowd, emboldened by the emcee’s words, or too fraught with fear to recognize a hopeless cause when they saw it, did as he requested. They rushed toward the streets, ready to do whatever they could to kill these freaks, but as they passed by Gabe, a whisper echoed in his ears. ‘Take this power, and distribute it among the diaspora. Embrace… Black Power.’ He didn’t know what the hell a ‘die-ass-pora’ was, but he got the gist and, with a flap of his wings, 107 feathers were fired at the righteous crowd before him. One landed on every person, and as the black feathers made contact with their skin, they did not keel over in pain. Instead, the feather sank past their dark skin, into their body, and their bodies became veiled in a gale of darkness.
This mighty tempest kept the horde of Whiterats at bay, shooing off any who dared to get close. As the winds faded, the humans who were there a moment ago were all transformed, just like Gabe was. An army of Black angels was in their place. All clad in purple and gold robes, all with massive black wings, and all ready to enact some vengeance on the demons who lurked before them.
They flapped their wings in unison, forming a mighty whirlwind that grabbed every Whiterat from off the ground and sent them flying back at breakneck speeds. A swarm of feathers sliced through their bodies, killing them all in a matter of seconds. Alone, each of these Black angels might have been able to fend off a couple dozen. But together, they took down hundreds in a single blow.
The street before them was painted white with blood, with toppled cars, shattered windows, and property damage in the millions— most of which was caused by the Whiterats in the first place. The army of angels celebrated their feat, cheering at their newfound power, only for this moment of celebration to be interrupted by the emcees.
Emcee 1: “Yo, hold up, hold up. We don’t know what the fuck is going on with these things!”
Emcee 2: “Yeah, you’re right. Nothing makes any goddamn sense, but if we got wings, we should be able to fly and scope this shit out.”
With that cue, the hundred angels in attendance flapped their wings as they ascended into the sky, settling on about 50 meters high before taking a bird’s-eye view of their city. From this vantage point, they determined that… this was not an isolated incident.
Fires were burning throughout the city. The Whiterats were so big and pasty that you could see them even as they ran through alleys, and they were everywhere. The city of Los Angeles was home to over 3 million people, and just from this narrow scope, they could see thousands of these abominations scurrying about like the vermin they resembled.
Fear and concern rose at this sight, worry that… this was running rampant, that they were the only line of defense this city had. But as they looked closer, they saw they were not alone. The streets across the city had broken out into battlegrounds, where people toughed it out against the Whiterats. But how they fought them was… different. Some were using basic weapons— pipes, boards, clubs, swords, whatever they could swing to break shit. Some were even using trucks to slaughter these freaks. And others relied on good old, all-American firearms. There was no shortage of regular people killing these freaks, but the more this flock of angels looked down, the more they saw people… like them.
Not angels, but people exercising incredible powers beyond the scale of humans. Punching these abominations with fists of fire. Throwing bolts of lightning out of their hands, frying up any opposition in seconds. Using their mind to make Whiterats float up high and explode in vibrant fireworks. And even people wielding goldarn lightsabers, craving up Whiterats with a single slash.
And it wasn’t just Black people in this crowd. Hispanic, Asian, Middle Eastern, it didn’t matter. All were out in the streets… except for White people. The closest thing to them was those heinous things. The gears in the minds of these angels churned as they recognized the reality staring them in the face. It was absurd… but they were flying and had superpowers. They’d have to be morons to not believe something as plausible as every White person becoming a monster through the same manner that they just gained superpowers. In fact, a few of them weren’t even that surprised.
Emcee 3: “Ay yo! That’s enough looking! Let’s get down there and end these fuck-ugly ratfucks!”
With a series of nods, the angels in attendance separated to divide and destroy. Because while they might outnumber these creatures in south central LA, they had an entire country of these bastards to deal with. And they weren’t going to stand back and let someone else take care of things. They had the righteous drive, the Black Power, and the will to fight. It took a nation of millions to hold them back before. But now? With power like this? They could take on a billion and still win!
Psycho Shatter 1988: Black Vice X Weiss Vice Main Page
Table of Contents:
Atrocity 01: The Nujiboe Society for Caucasoid Prosperity
Atrocity 02: The White Awakening
Atrocity 03: The Black Awakening
Atrocity 04: The Apartheid Absolution
Atrocity 05: The Victims of the White Empire
Atrocity 06: The Fascistin’ Limmerickin’ Chicken
Atrocity 07: The Imperative Intermission
Atrocity 08: The White Devil
Atrocity 09: The Plan to Eradicate Weiss Vice
Atrocity 10: The Milky of Hope
Atrocity 11: The Power of Nippon Imagination
Atrocity 12: The Assault on Washington
Atrocity 13: The Evils of Richard Rooadoot Ratters
Atrocity 14: The Battle of Black X White
Atrocity 15: The World Where Evil Won
Atrocity 16: The New Future
Atrocity 17: The World of Boundless Color