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 04: The Apartheid Absolution
Part 1: A Nation in Need
Date: Monday, August 15, 1988
Time: 03:13 UTC – 05:13 LT
Location: Cape Town, South Africa
The evils of racism were so deeply ingrained into the fabric of human society there was doubt that it could ever be moved. However, in the past century, most civilized countries at least attempted to move past it. To end segregation, to end state-sponsored discrimination. Yet the leaders of South Africa were adamant about maintaining their apartheid state. For over two decades, they have been met with opposition— violent and relentless resistance— yet the state remained just as rigid and hateful as ever. They have denied the Black population the right to participate in society beyond a role of servitude. Denied them access to the cities of their own creation, forcing them into shantytowns and threatening to relocate them further away from the infrastructure, from modernity.
It would have been a callous disrespect for a people’s humanity no matter the circumstance, yet this mistreatment was beyond comparison. This was Africa. Land owned by Africans, stolen by colonizers who bled the land of its resources, used its location for its own gain, and exploited its people as a source of cheap labor. South Africa had spent centuries as a tool for political powers who sought to abuse the nation, and while ‘independent’, its people were hardly free.
The colonizers, the wealthy, the Coloured, the immigrants from the West Indies, those were members of an upper class. The indigenous people, the overwhelming majority of the population, were subject to such vulgar disrespect it would be generous to call them citizens. They were enraged, willing to do anything to earn their freedom, and in response, the government issued a State of Emergency in 1985, giving themselves carte blanche to oppress, imprison, and execute any opposition. For in their eyes, anybody who opposed the government— opposed the military— was a terrorist as a matter of fact. It was simple logic.
Or, at least, that was the logic. South Africa once had the support of the United States and United Kingdom as a shield against the influence of communism. But in recent years, in an increasingly globalized society, it became impossible for these world powers to ignore the abuse, murder, and disrespect for human life across the country. Just two years ago, the two empires issued harsh sanctions on South Africa, hoping to bleed them out, to force them to abandon apartheid, and… it was working. Its prisons were overflowing, military expenditures were massive, and the violent protests were damaging the country in more ways than one.
There were only two ways the future of this country could play out. Economic ruin or social reform. The question was… which would happen first? And how much longer would the people need to suffer?
Before daybreak, the nation was already in the midst of turmoil. The streets were overflowing. Not with cars, nor with people, but freakish abominations who ran throughout the city of Cape Town, ravaging its streets in a sea of destruction. The Whiterats were not merely something isolated to the United States or America, but a plague that appeared anywhere in the world there was even the faintest presence of a Caucasian. Which is to say, most of it.
The vile creatures ran and hunted after everyone and anyone different from them. Not caring if the target was Colored, Asian, or Black. They would pin them down, brandish their massive teeth, and rip them to shreds with their claws. The remaining humans borrowed themselves into hiding spots, barricaded themselves atop tall buildings, hoping these creatures couldn’t climb walls, and drove away in search of sanctuary. It was a dire situation, dealing with these vicious human-sized rats, but that description was underselling them.
What made the White population of South Africa so threatening was not their numbers, for they were less than 20% of the total population. What made them threatening was their weaponry. Armored vehicles, automatic weapons, protective armor, heavy artillery. And the Whiterats… kept all of these things. As they transformed from human to monster, weapons became grafted as part of their bodies, melding into a revolting combination of metal and flesh. For those close to vehicles, they bonded with them and grew into armor-plated behemoths capable of crushing anything before them. They carried with them the weight and ramming power of an APC, and while not as fast, they could still outrun even the fastest human.
The people of this country had gotten crafty and ambitious when fighting against the evils of the state, but pistols and homemade explosives couldn’t do much against a tank. Let alone one that was fueled by pure hatred. Whatever restraint the military had once shown was now lost. They had been gifted a demonic might, and they intended to use it to achieve their ultimate goal. Absolute genocide. They were outnumbered four to one, but with this kind of power, there was nothing plausible, nothing grounded in reality, that could stop them.
The people of South Africa needed a miracle. They needed a savior. They needed a way to unlock the strength within. …And they were about to get all three.
Part 2: Miraculous Savior’s Evocation
Date: Monday, August 15, 1988
Time: 03:14 UTC – 05:14 LT
Location: Pollsmoor Prison, Cape Town, South Africa
Pollsmoor Prison. An inhumane maximum security prison for enemies of the state. Young men who simply were begging their government for rights. Those who only resorted to crime after being denied the necessities of life. Political prisoners who the government wanted to keep a close eye on. There were thousands of people in these halls, almost all Black, almost all kept there on merits that any sane and fair human would deem irrational.
Its rooms were crammed with people, well beyond the official capacity. The air was so damp the place was practically a breeding ground for tuberculosis. And its guards were some of the most vindictive bastards on the continent. A legion of twisted White men who loved abusing the Black men before them so much you could swear it was their fetish. It was not a place for reform. Not a place for people to get out of. You come here and die. That was the idea. That was the plan.
Of course, there were some people who were too important to let die. Men whose deaths would spur and uproar and sow the seeds of discontent even more. Most of these were strictly political prisoners, and none of these were more valuable than a man isolated in his own little concrete box.
A man named Wilson Wendella. 70-years-old, he spent the past 25 in prison, all for spending the prime of his life fighting for his people. He believed in pursuing human rights by any means necessary, even if it meant using violence and killing their enemies. After all, those were some of the state’s favorite weapons against his people.
During Wendella’s time as an activist, as a leader of the African National Congress political party, Wendella became a shining beacon of hope for the South African people. In prison, he remained just that. If anything, he became more. He became a face for their plight, a symbol, and someone for the international communities of the world to latch onto as a political hero. For he upheld his principles at every turn, refused to compromise on his ideas, even if it meant decades of suffering. All because he believed in radical ideas like freedom.
It being in the early hours of the morning, Wendella was trying to sleep in his cell, before beginning another day of toiling and waiting. However, such a goal was impossible with the noise and commotion that echoed through these concrete halls and to his isolated cell. His eyes fluttered open, and he brought his hands to his aging face, waking himself up as he sat on his sorry excuse for a bed. The dark of the night still lingered from outside his barred window, while his door let in no such thing, being a fixture of solid metal with only a small flap. This door offered Wendella more privacy than the bars of his former cell, though after being here for six years, he was starting to miss those bars.
He was not concerned by the noise— there was nothing he could do about it— and merely moved to his desk, deciding to start the day early. But before he could do much more than mark off his calendar, he began hearing something against his door. A terrible scratching noise that sounded like bone gnashing against metal. He turned to his door, unperturbed, and began speaking to this presumed person.
Wendella: “Hello? Do you need me for something?”
The scratching sound only got worse after Wendella asked his innocuous question. The door began to rattle and, after taking a step back, the shoebox sized flap opened up. Wendella, naturally, expected to see the face of a guard. Perhaps a revolting prisoner. Instead… he saw a claw. A claw coming from a humanoid hand, complete with an opposable thumb. Ten centimeters long and connected to a pinkish bit of wrinkly skin. It did not look like any animal Wendella had seen or read about, and as it blindly scratched the air, it eventually found the other side of the door. Its claw scratched the surface, gauging its durability, before piercing a hole through it.
Clearly, this was not some ordinary animal, and clearly, this creature should not be in a prison like this. Wendella was committed to staying in prison, yet the threat of danger, of a deadly animal, made him glance at the barred window with concern. All he could hope for is that this creature went away, but there was little chance of that. As Wendella moved to the other end of his cell, the creature stuck its head into the flap, revealing itself to be a Whiterat.
The wrinkly skin, pinkish complexion, white eyes, pig-like snout, and jagged teeth painted an unnerving image. One that was clearly a beast, an animal, yet retained just enough features to look vaguely human. It was unnerving, uncanny, and as it screeched, it… spoke. It… said his name.
Whiterat: “WENDELLA! Die, n***er, die!”
For as knowledgeable as he was, Wendella did not understand what he was seeing, and he felt a panic greater than anything he felt in the past 20 years. The sound of scraping metal grew louder. The Whiterat was violently shaking the door, mustering almost enough strength to tear off its hinges. And when the Whiterat wasn’t screeching in rage, he could hear raspy shouts coming from elsewhere.
Wendella crawled onto his bed, fearing a grisly demise at the hands of an unknown creature… only for its horrific shouting to be silenced with an echoing strike.
The flap to Wendella’s door fell shut, and he did not think to look out, lest his hand get bitten off. He merely stayed in his cell, on his bed, until the noise stopped. He cautiously got up, hoping to check out his door, only for that door to fly off its hinges. The tattered metal sheet slammed onto his desk, denying him any protection from this monster. He expected it to come in and pounce him, but instead… he was greeted by a woman.
She was nearly two meters tall— half a foot taller than Wendella— with a dark, unmistakably African, complexion. Her black hair was woven into thin braids and arranged into a ponytail that went down to the middle of her back. While her face was both beautiful and youthful, featuring a wide nose and strong features that were complemented by the rest of her form.
This woman had an incredible, muscular physique. Thick arms, prominent shoulder muscles, thighs strong enough to crush… many things, and a flat stomach with just enough fat on it to appear healthy. It was a body to be proud of, and she wasn’t shy about showing it off. She wore a green tank top short enough to expose her midriff, gold-yellow shorts that left most of her thighs exposed, black military boots, and a necklace that drew attention to her plentiful chest.
It was a black medallion of the symbol of uMkhonto weSizwe, or Spear of the Nation. A paramilitary organization co-founded by Wendella over 25 years ago.
Strong Woman: “Wilson Wendella. It’s an honor to meet you.”
She held out her hand, slightly larger than Wendella’s. He was cautious after this woman knocked down his door, but still did the cordial thing and shook her hand. Her grip was surprisingly gentle considering her obvious strength, but Wendella barely noticed.
Wendella: “Who… are you? Why are you here?”
The woman smiled warmly at the question.
Strong Woman: “My name’s Jessie Shines. And I’m here to break you out.”
Wendella: “Miss Shines, if I wanted to get out of prison, I have had many opportunities over the years. I intend on staying here until justice is delivered to the people of South Africa.”
Jessie: “Always willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. I wish the world had more people like you. But I wasn’t asking. You need to leave here, pronto. Or else you, and every Black man, woman, and child in South Africa, will be killed!”
Jessie stomped her foot to punctuate that warning, but Wendella’s expression remained calm.
Wendella: “That’s an awfully extreme claim you are making. I know things are bad across the country but—”
Jessie: “—We don’t have time for this. Take a look at this!”
Jessie grabbed Wendella by the arm, yanking him to the other side of the cell and pushing him out the door, where he saw… the remains of the monster that was tearing up his door. Its head was reduced to a bloody pulp, but what drew Wendella’s eye was its human-sized form and saggy pink skin. Without the bestial face, it almost looked like a disfigured White man. Almost. And with four sets of clawed appendages, it would have been able to carve him up in a manner of seconds. He wondered how someone could kill a creature like this without a weapon, but then he looked at Jessie’s biceps.
Wendella: “Miss Shines, who are you really?”
Jessie: “If I had a free afternoon, I’d give you the whole story. One full of bastard gods and decaying sanity. …For now, let’s just say that I’m like you. A freedom fighter. My world’s in trouble, and I’ll be damned if I just lay down and let it go to hell.”
Before Jessie could say anything more, she was interrupted by the sound of a screeching Whiterat running down the hall. She shouted at Wendella to get down before adopting a combative stance, snickering as the monster grew closer, leaping up to pounce her. As it jumped through the air, she smacked it square in the face with her fist. This sent the Whiterat flying back, its skull cracked open, and its body flopped on the floor, twitching with a final bout of lingering rage before the life and hatred left its body.
Jessie: “So, are you gonna waste time and let people die by asking questions, or will you trust me?”
Wendella had learned not to trust anybody who promised to help him… but considering the circumstances, he didn’t have much of a choice.
Wendella: “I’ll trust you. Lead the way.”
Jessie smirked at this compliance and, as if in celebration, she slammed her foot against the concrete floor with such force it looked painful. The walls and floors in this place were too thick for any human to shatter them, but Jessie… just did.
Not only did she shatter the concrete beneath her feet, she… shattered the ground beneath it. Wendella looked down to see a dark meter wide hole with no visible bottom. A hole that filled him with a lingering sense of unease. He looked at Jessie with disbelief… only for her to grab him with her strong arms, carrying him like a child.
Jessie: “It’s a long drop, but it’s the fastest way out of here.”
Wendella: “W-Wait, are you going to jump down that—”
Jessie: “You said you trusted me, right? So trust that I can survive a 200 meter drop and hold on for dear life!”
Before she finished that sentence, Jessie jumped down into the dark hole. Wendella panicked as they began falling, fearing that the last thing he would see would be this dark abyss. His life flashed before his eyes, his breathing became erratic, and he clenched onto Jessie for dear life, thinking that he was destined to die in a vulgar splat as he became another victim of gravity. He shuttered his eyes in anticipation of this… and heard an echoing thud. He could still blink, feel his arms, and feel Jessie’s arms, but the oppressive darkness blocked anything else.
Wendella: “We… survived?”
Jessie: “Of course! You’re too important to die like this. Now then—”
Jessie then used her free hand to snap her fingers. A second later, the environment around her and Wendella was illuminated. It was a tunnel of carved stone. Three meters tall, three meters wide, with bright lights planted overhead. It was an elaborate structure that looked to have cost millions of dollars, and raised… many questions. Like why build it under a prison?
Before Wendella could ask these questions, Jessie let him out of her arms. He looked around, awestruck by this display, and turned to Jessie.
Wendella: “Let me guess, there’s no time to explain.”
Jessie: “70 years young and still sharp as ever, I see. …This is an escape route I whipped up.”
Wendella: “You ‘whipped’ it up?”
Jessie: “I’m more than just a strong lady with a pretty face. We’ve got 15 kilometers to cover, so we’re going to need some wheels to make good time. I originally wanted to fly out of here, but those Whiterats started taking to the skies.”
Wendella: “Whiterats… you mean those monsters can fly?”
Jessie: “They can do so much worse than that…”
As Jessie spoke, she fumbled around with a mound of rocks piled near where the two fell from, pulling aside 60 kilogram stones with the greatest of ease in order to reveal something… surprising. A modern, sleek motorcycle with an attached sidecar, featuring an attached machine gun.
Jessie: “These monsters can dig like crazy, so they’ve probably found this place by now. You shoot, I’ll drive.”
Wendella: “Shoot?”
Jessie: “Just aim and pull the trigger. Don’t worry about the ammo. You’ve got more than you could ever need.”
Wendella: “I haven’t held a gun in… 25 years—”
Jessie: “It’s like riding a bike. You’ll remember after a minute. …Now get your ass in the sidecar!”
With no real way to refuse, Wendella did as Jessie requested. He got into the sidecar and fiddled with the firearm planted before him, moving it across the 180 degrees of motion he had available, allowing him to fire at targets in front of and behind him.
Jessie hit the gas after Wendella got situated and started cruising down the dirt road before her at a brisk 60 kilometers per hour. With winding passages like this, any faster would be suicidal, but despite these speeds, Jessie’s predictions proved to be correct. Abruptly, a Whiterat fell from the ceiling , landing right behind the motorcycle and giving chase.
Jessie: “There’s been a breach! Shoot to kill!”
Wendella hesitated as he was given this order. He had not done harm to another person or life form in so long he momentarily forgot how to do it, but as he placed his finger on the trigger and aimed down the sights, he remembered how. You look them in the eye… and tell yourself this is for the best.
After wasting 20 bullets, Wendella finally got a clean shot on the Whiterat, killing or incapacitating it, but as its corpse flopped into its final resting place, it was replaced by a dozen others.
Jessie: “Keep shooting! These aren’t creatures worthy of life, let alone respect!”
As Jessie said that, she jostled the motorcycle around a boulder in the way, scrapping the sidecar against it.
Wendella: “You’ll need to drive straight if you want me to hit anything!”
Jessie: “You wanna switch places? Because I’m sure you’re still a top-notch driver after 25 years!”
Wendella grunted before getting back to shooting, spraying gunfire at the Whiterats who, regardless of the sound, of the damage they took, kept moving. Their bodies neither respond to danger nor pain. It, strangely, made it easier to shoot at these things, because they acted more like machines programmed to destroy than any animal that cared about its own survival.
They came from the walls, from the ceilings, from the floor, and every time he thought he cleared things out, more appeared. It was a dire situation, but Wendella was too old and hardened to falter. He consciously knew that they could be overwhelmed by a surprise swarm. That this weapon could suddenly run out of ammo when he needed it the most. But the adrenaline of the situation, the ravenous sound of gunfire, and the sense of speed felt by moving so quickly for the first time in so long, it emboldened him. Even if this was his last stand, even if this was a hopeless venture, he refused to go down passively, and was committed to fighting to the bitter end.
To Wendella, this escape felt like it took hours… when realistically, it was closer to 15 minutes. After a lull in Whiterats spawning from the ground, Jessie abruptly hit the brakes, screeching the motorcycle to a stop.
Jessie: “We’re here.”
Wendella turned around to see Jessie pointing at a ladder. He got out of the sidecar to take a closer look, seeing that the latter rose up a concrete shaft, illuminated with sparingly placed lights. He looked up and… while his vision had decayed with age, he could tell this was taller than 200 meters. It looked closer to 500 meters. Despite his best efforts at staying healthy while in prison, he knew he had no chance of climbing this. He would be hard pressed to imagine many people who could without bringing proper climbing gear.
Wendella: “…This place wouldn’t happen to have an elevator, would it?”
Jessie: “Relax, you’re not going to climb it. Just grab onto my back and hold on for dear life. In fact…”
Jessie then reached for her shorts and pulled off a leather belt. Wendella did not recall her wearing a belt beforehand, but there were bigger things to worry about than… magical belts.
Wendella: “I don’t have much of a choice, now do I?”
While part of him felt humiliated by this predicament, Wendella accepted help when it was dangling into his face, and allowed Jessie to fasten himself to her. Per her instructions, he wrapped himself around her like a pretzel, locking his legs around her flat sweaty stomach and latching onto her tank top and bra straps for support.
Jessie still moved with ease despite the extra 80 kilograms latched onto her back and stared at the ladder with a determined look. She grabbed hold of it, carefully taking the first few steps of her ascension, before leaping up at a rapid pace. She cleared two rungs in a second, practically jumping up them while yanking herself with her arms. It felt like it was rushed and hectic, but as Wendella looked at her motions, they seemed focused and regimented. It was impressive, to say the least… but it left him wondering just… what this woman was.
After a few minutes, Jessie reached the top of the ladder and pulled open a lid that peered into the night’s sky. She slowed her pace as she exited this ladder, gently lowering herself on the solid surface to let Wendella unhook. He attempted to do so with grace, only for him to fall on his rear as he saw where they were.
They were up high. Not just in the city of Cape Town, but in the mountain overlooking it, Table Mountain. Standing at an impressive kilometer tall, it was a natural beauty, an icon of the country he fought so hard to transform. Illuminated by only a sliver of moon and the stars in the sky, it was an awe-inspiring sight. Something so far from the drab walls of a prison cell that… it brought a tear to his eye. He wanted to indulge in this rush of emotion but… Jessie had not brought him here to sightsee.
Wendella: “Why did you bring me here?”
Jessie: “To show you the magnitude of destruction the Whiterats have wrought in just 46 minutes.”
Wendella followed Jessie’s pointing arm and looked out at the city built beneath this daunting mountain. …And it was in flames.
Aghast by this distant image, Jessie handed Wendella a pair of binoculars. He was too troubled to wonder where she got them and simply placed them over his eyes, needing to see the truth.
With this enhanced vision, Wendella was able to peer into the streets of Cape Town, and it was worse than he feared. He saw people running through the streets, away from these vicious Whiterats. Mothers grabbing children while fathers grabbed sticks and stones to fend off or distract these monsters that wanted nothing more than to kill. Cars were being toppled and torn into by these vile creatures. And just when Wendella thought they could not get more reprehensible, he witnessed one, 5 meters tall, covered in armor, rampaging through a building, all while unloading gunfire from a turret propped up on their back.
He even saw that Jessie was right with her comment about flying Whiterats, as there were cyborg abominations littering the sky. Half Whiterat and half helicopter, barely holding themselves together with propellers while guns awkwardly jutted out of their flesh.
It was a war zone beyond anything he had seen, and the more he saw, the more overt these atrocities became. His legs began to tremble and, as he saw a Whiterat pounce on a child, he nearly dropped the binoculars.
Jessie planted a hand on Wendella’s shoulder, looking at the sight before her with a somber, forlorn, expression.
Jessie: “These bastards are doing this all over the country. At this rate, everything will be toast in 24 hours. …But you can stop this.”
Wendella: “…What the HELL are you talking about? I’m not a general, I don’t have troops, I’m just—”
Jessie: “A leader. The leader these people need. The leader who will rally the people of this nation and help them unlock the power within. The power to fight as one, as a collective, and eradicate their White oppressors.”
Wendella: “But how can I—”
Jessie: “Do not question, just do. I have used my powers to prevent any deaths here, but it is draining to spread myself so thin. Normally I do not need to be concerned about any limits, but that fucking interloper has been making me weaker…”
Jessie looked down at her fist with rage, clenching it hard enough to draw blood.
Jessie: “You need to channel your rage and and kill your enemies. The time for diplomacy has ended. Whiterats lack the mental capacity to do anything more than destroy. It’s either humans, or them. Otherwise, they will bring about a complete African genocide. It might sound absurd. Over half a billion people, all up and dying like that. But if this is happening in every city, if these Whiterats are rushing over to rural villages and nomadic communities, do you think there is any other plausible outcome?”
Wendella: “…How do I kill these things?”
Jessie: “With this.”
Smirking, Jessie bent down to give the mountain a firm pat. Wendella looked at her as if this was some kind of joke, but her smile remained unbroken.
Jessie: “This is the land of your people. This is your land. And if you manifest your will… you can use it to defeat your enemies. To crush them, their armies, and claim this nation for your people. They say that the power of the people can move mountains, as an expression, but you can make it a reality if you let your presence be known and desire it.”
Wendella struggled to take this woman’s words seriously, as they sounded so absurd. But what other choice did he have? Either he could believe in the impossible or accept hopelessness and bear witness to the complete genocide of his people.
Wendella: “…Tell me, how do I do this? How do I… use the Earth to kill these things?”
Jessie: “Speak to the people— your voice will stretch across miles. Have them lend you their power. From there… it should come naturally.”
Shooting Wendella a cheeky look, Jessie poked him on the forehead, causing him to flinch as insights and wisdom flooded into his mind. He knew what her words meant… and would manifest them unto reality!
With a deep breath, Wendella cleared his throat and spoke as loudly as he could to the citizens of Cape Town
Wendella: “People of Cape Town. Of South Africa. My name is Wilson Wendella. Our land is under attack and, unless we do something drastic, do something quickly, we will have no chance of survival. To stand a chance at defeating these monsters, to reclaim our homeland, we must band together as one, we must be unified in our efforts. All of you, however you may, lend me your power and I can make us one. Divided, we are weak. But united, there is nothing that can stop us!”
Part 3: Black Titan and the Power of a Million Men
Date: Monday, August 15, 1988
Time: 03:49 UTC – 05:49 LT
Location: Table Mountain, South Africa
After Wilson Wendella gave his impromptu speech, he raised his fist up high in opposition, and as he gazed into the city below… he saw a flickering rainbow of lights. Over a million, all shining brilliantly, rising high into the sky in a dizzying barrage of colors, before crashing down, immersing Wendella in a torrent spanning across the entire spectrum of visible light. Their magnitude and scale immersed him, consumed him, and drilled into the face of the mountain itself, penetrating the earth as over a million souls returned to it.
A crater was left in the mountain, a scar on the Earth that went deeper than a kilometer. A scar of darkness, devoid of the lights that once filled it, but as this fallout settled, a vibrant shake could be felt across the entire Western Cape region. An earthquake the likes of which had never been felt in this part of the world,
Whiterats were barely phased by this geological event, as they were not the type to be phased by anything. They continued to mindlessly scurry about in search of prey amongst the city they brought to ruin, only looking up when they heard a vibrant echoing crack of stone coming from Table Mountain.
The side of the mountain facing Cape Town shattered in a cloud of dust and stone, sending tons of debris shooting out and falling to the city below. The dust made it impossible for any to tell what was happening, even the flying Whiterats littering the sky, but as seconds faded into minutes, the impression became clear. A… figure had emerged from the side of Table Mountain. A being 300 meters tall, and made entirely of black stone. A being who walked on two legs, the silhouette bearing the shape of a human wielding a spear and shield.
This being of black stone, born from the Earth itself— this black titan— walked through the cloud of dust and revealed themself to the legion of Whiterats across the city. If they could think, they would experience awe upon seeing a being with such immense scale. Instead, they panicked, scurrying away and across the city. Despite their profound speed, they were far slower than the black titan, who created a quake of destruction with every step, toppling anything and rendering the land bare for reclamation and rebirth.
The Whiterats rallied together in a singular place as the black titan continued their unflinching advance. The Whiterats were too small to make a dent into this thing, and the titan’s rough exterior made any ascent impossible. They needed size, to unify, to combat this creature… so they did.
The sweaty skin of the Whiterats began to loosen, becoming a sloppy paste-like substance that collided with the other creatures in close proximity. They screeched in rage as this happened, as their bodies merged into globules and soon a singular wad of pink skin goop. It was a surreal sight to behold, a growing, pulsating, mound of flesh and metal whose mass crushed nearby buildings and whose size seemed ever growing, until reaching a scale comparable to the black titan before it.
Only once this wad of flesh was fully grown did it begin to morph into a more distinct form. The form of a Whiterat. A giant Whiterat who stood at 250 meters tall from its hind legs to its head, whose body was laced with imperfections and defects. Stray tiny limbs and heads poking out of its body, rashes and discolorations, and awkwardly placed pieces of metal covering its person. Stray pieces of armor connected to skin. Firearms and cannons that were not aimed in a strategic manner and could not be moved. And a set of fully metallic claws and teeth, so awkward and heavy that the Whiterat could not even close its mouth or use its fingers as anything more than an imprecise flail.
The Whiterats were repulsive to look at in the best of times… but this thing was just fucking nasty. An abomination of man, rodent, and machine that should have never been brought into this world. Rather than look intimidating, it looked as if it was ready to lie down and die, just seconds after being born. As if out of desperation to end its suffering, the giant Whiterat lunged forth at the black titan, its weapons firing blindly in all directions and failing to do anything more than chip their rock solid body.
The black titan held their stance as the enemy approached, and once it grew near, they smacked the Whiterat in the face with their enormous stone shield. This single blow sent this creature tumbling to the ruins beneath its feet, a wave of white blood escaping from its body as it collided with the shrapnel below. It flailed, tossing its limbs in every direction, but lacking the conviction of strength to lift itself from the ground.
Stepping forward, the black titan raised their spear high and aimed it at the revolting face of this mistake. With a single forceful motion, powerful enough to destroy anything ever created by humankind, the black titan drove their spear into the Whiterat’s face. Its skin tore open, unleashing a stream of glowing white blood that flew high into the sky and fell to the land below just as quickly.
The creature still twitched. With so many other heads, arms, and legs thriving in its body, with so many duplicate mini organs, life would still remain inside it unless it was completely eradicated. The black titan recognized this and prepared to remove its spear from the shattered face of the Whiterat… only for an explosive to be dropped on their head.
Their dark face then illuminated with a pair of vibrant violet eyes as they looked upon the sky, a sky still buzzing with flying Whiterats. Hybridizations between planes and helicopters and these nasty things, armed with guns and bombs. With a new target acquired, the black titan took their free hand and held it up to the flying bastards. They were too small and fast for any physical strikes to hit, but as a creature of animated stone, they had access to a lot of rocks.
With an outstretched hand, the black titan unleashed a cloud of dust, mixed with stones— from pebbles to ones the size of a football, all shot out with extreme force before the swarm of flying Whiterats before them. They tried to avoid collisions, but that was like trying to stay dry in a thunderstorm. The rocks fired by the black titan clogged and set the engines of these vile cyborgs on fire, destroyed their propellers, and pelted their fleshier bits with enough force to leave them ruptured and bleeding. All in range were devastated, and the same was true for the next wave, and the one after that.
Only once the skies were clear of Whiterats did the black titan look down at the pseudo-living Whiterat before them. As they looked at this heinous husk with their violet eyes, they devised a way to end them.
With a stomp of their foot, the earth trembled, quaking yet again, but more than it had previously. The crust of the Earth was being torn asunder, several kilometers of mantle were cracked, and from this new hole, a torrent or heat rushed to the surface in a burning eruption.
The carcass of the giant Whiterat exploded in a fiery kaboom as magma gushed from the innards of the Earth. Its belly burst, its oily skin quickly became enraptured in a sea of fire. Stray bits of its enormous body cried out in a final moment of agony, only to soon be silenced by the deafening crackles of the flames.
The city of Cape Town was destroyed, left in ruins and in flames, but it was already lost before the black titan came onto the scene. What mattered was that the opposition was slain. The people were safe within the body of the black titan, and once these colonizing invaders were dealt with, they would rebuild. Rebuild a better nation, led by the people who made it.
Pulling their black stone spear from the burning carcass, the black titan turned around and looked out at the vast nation before them. They knew that uprisings like this were happening in every major city across South Africa, and if they wanted to save this land and their people, they needed to eliminate the Whiterats by any means necessary.
As the black titan traveled north, Jessie looked on at the departing creature from atop Table Mountain, nodding slowly at this display before turning away to look out into the ocean.
Jessie: “That’s one down. Only a couple hundred more to go. Maybe a few thousand, depending on what bullshit Black Vice has in store for us.”
Jessie sighed as she accepted her predicament before turning her head to see someone else with her on the mountain. A… copy of herself. Just as tall, just as muscular, but with a slightly different hairstyle and with a different, less casual, outfit.
Jessie’s Doppelgänger: “That takes care of a million of these Whiterats. Just a little over a billion to go.”
Jessie: “Did you come to help me, or to sass me?”
Jessie’s Doppelgänger: “You know the answer’s both.”
Jessie: “How much of Africa do we have left?”
Jessie’s Doppelgänger: “We’re just getting started.”
Jessie: “Then cut the bullshit and let me know our next destination.”
Jessie’s Doppelgänger: “Cairo. You wouldn’t think they’d have problems with Whiterats, but these motherfuckers merged with boats and are flooding the Mediterranean as we speak.”
Jessie: “Of course Black Vice is dragging their ass on cleaning up Europe. …So, it’s time to unify and show these people Black Power?”
Jessie’s Doppelgänger: “You know it just as well as I do.”
Jessie and her doppelgänger then looked at each other and touched hands, their fingers merging together as their bodies joined into a single entity. It was smooth, swift, and lacked any mess that usually comes when two beings attempt to join as one. A Jessie who resembled the more casually dressed version, retaining none of the elements of the doppelgänger. But this Jessie did not seem bothered by what she looked like. She merely looked back at the ocean and waved her hand, causing the fabric of reality before her to tear open, revealing a shadowy rift. Less than a second later, she leapt into this rift, and it closed just as quickly.
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