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 12: The Assault on Washington
Date: Monday, August 15, 1988
Time: 5:05 UTC – 01:05 LT
Location: The National Mall, Washington, D.C.
The entire world was turned into a war zone by the endless rampage of the Whiterats, but the city of Washington was… special. There were few cities in America with as significant Black populations as Washington, only eclipsed by the likes of Atlanta. However, the city was also home to the seat of the Federal government, a predominately White organization with a centuries long history of disdain toward the Black population. It was a Black city that doubled as the seat of a White Supremacist institution.
Whiterats scurried from across the nation to protect their self-appointed masters at this seat of power, only to be met with a vengeful army of warriors with immense powers bestowed upon them by The Black Shitenno. The collision of these two powers had left most of the Capital Beltway in utter disarray. Buildings were toppled and bombed. Historical sites were ground into rubble. Forests were burnt into ash. The Lincoln Memorial was quite literally raped to dust by Whiterats. And the Potomac River was reduced to a dumping ground of Whiterat corpses.
Even at their most frenzied and feral, the Whiterats could not defeat the humans that opposed them. No matter how many Whiterats poured down from New England or up from Virginia, they were all met with the same fate. The only question was… how long could this last? After a mere two hours, the forces, wielding the power of superheroes and demigods, were feeling the fatigue of battle, and there was nowhere to recover.
Amidst all this destruction and conflict, there was one place utterly untouched. Protected by a white veil that kept out not only Whiterats, but any humans who dared to cross the pale. It was a stretch of land with no good unifying name that spanned The National Mall, US Capitol Complex, Federal Triangle, and The White House. This area remained pristine, untouched… at least until now.
The smoke-filled sky above shielded the city from the light of the night, casting everything in a dismal haze. From this miasma, a lone source of light flickered, piercing through the clouds at a frantic pace. It was a comet from the heavens, venturing into the heart of the city, targeting the white veil. None on the surface could tell what this was, let alone how to stop it, and before they could see where it was heading, it had already collided.
The shining comet came from the west and collided directly into the base of the Washington Monument, shattering the marble and granite with a fiery impact, spreading the remains in all directions. One of the tallest structures in the world, a feat of engineering that took decades to complete, and a symbol of America’s ideals, all shattered in nary a second. Its foundation reduced to a crater, bearing not only the tattered remnants of this structure, but the object that brought it down. A meteorite, its exterior blackened and its size comparable to a storage crate.
Within this smoke-riddled, sweltering hot impact site, the sizable meteorite shifted, jittering back and forth as if it were somehow alive or, more practically, something inside it was trying to escape. A moment later, a meter-wide chunk of the meteorite flew off from the space rock, and from this new hole, two people emerged, both walking through the dense cloud of debris and out the crater.
The first was a tall White man in a simple black and white suit, his hazel eyes locked in a dull expression as his short dark brown hair became grayed from dust. It was Zach Vespa, looking as enthused as usual. To his side was Black Vice, in their physically female form. Short, Black, straightened hair locked in a ponytail, and a face both cute and picturesque. Their outfit though… was something else.
Vice was wearing a long white skirt that stopped just above their ankles, a flowing yellow top with short sleeves, paired with a blue sash along their waist. That not being enough though, the outfit was further accessorized with a ruby red cape adorned with gold-yellow trimmings. Yet rather than wear it as a traditional cape on their back, Vice opted to wear it on their right side, leaving their left side largely exposed. Their head was adorned with a giant pink and gold feather, nearly two feet tall, kept in place by a headband. Then, to really tie this whole outfit together, Vice’s feet were covered in a pair of fashionable neon purple sneakers.
To say this made Vice look like a queen would be incorrect. If anything, they looked more like a child trying to dress up like a queen using whatever they could find in an under-funded costume department. Zach looked at them with a degree of confusion as they left the crater, only speaking up after they built some distance from the impact site.
Zach: “Is that really the best outfit for this occasion, Vice?”
Vice: “I’d say it’s damn appropriate! Columbia was America’s icon during its younger years, and who better to take charge of the country, veer it off its corrupt course, than her?”
Zach: “It makes sense, do not get me wrong. I just doubt that this reference will land, especially with such an obscure rendition for your inspiration.”
Vice: “Bro, it’s like I always say. So long as I get the reference, that’s all that matters!”
Zach: “And what, pray tell, was the reference to destroying the Washington Monument?”
Vice: “It’s an eyesore that was only ever made for a dick measuring competition that they lost to France a few years later. Sure, it was a real feat of engineering, a real ass to build, but it doesn’t do anything! George could have had a museum as his memorial, or a dope statue of his mug, but noooo. He had to have a tall stony dick!”
After building some distance from the fallen structure, Vice and Zach looked on at their destinations. Before them was the US Capitol, the engine of American democracy, about 2.5 kilometers away, blocked only by vacant roads and green fields. To their left, through a series of trees, they could make out The White House, home of the brains of this machine, located less than a kilometer away.
Vice: “Since we don’t have much time, we should split up. You cool taking on the Capitol yourself?”
Zach: “Oh yes. I have a way to see around these people, and I wish to show them the nature of their hearts.”
Vice: “Splendid. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with the king of all Ratfucks. Toodles~!“
With only a little pep in their step, Vice merrily made their way to the White House, walking through the grass and past the trees as they moseyed to their objective. As for Zach, despite his calm demeanor, he just could not wait. After stretching his body, wringing out his long legs, Zach bolted forward with a speed that narrowly surpassed human limits. His plain dress shoes trampled over the grass of the national mall as his eyes switched between his right and left, looking at the museums that lined this lawn. Museums cataloging the history of the land, the works of this nation’s greatest artists, their feats of industry as they traversed air and space, and even the recently built National Museum of African Art.
The white veil protected these buildings from any Whiterats that would seek to reduce them to nothingness. To destroy these treasures and triumphs in a rage that rejects the past and present and desires to create a future without color. The thought of the Whiterats laying their disgusting claws on any of these buildings was enough to make Zach’s skin crawl, so he kept moving, until reached the steps of the Capitol.
As Zach looked up at this impressive structure of stone, a pertinent memory flashed through his head. As a boy born and raised in Virginia, he’d naturally visited D.C. before, and even after going through such a long and winding existence, he still remembered that trip. Going along with Vice, or rather Dan, as they saw the sights, visited the museums, and basked in the magnitude of the structures of their nation’s government. No matter what he thought, he felt a palpable reverence for what he was seeing. It represented so much to so many people. To Americans, to those who hated America, and to those who truly and deeply believed in the cause. Hundreds of conflicting memories rushed to the forefront of his mind as he examined this sight, only for them all to stop as he brought his foot to the first step.
There were no guards, no railings to shoo him away. For a moment, Zach wondered why that was… before continuing his ascent. With the building lit up and the doors unlocked, Zach faced no resistance as he entered the emptied grand rotunda.
Taking a deep breath, Zach checked the watch masked by the sleeves of his suit. The time was 1:15 in the morning. There was no reason for anyone other than security to be here at this hour, but he still felt many presences present in these halls. Particularly to the north, in the House of Representatives. He went there with post-haste, past the hall and to the House’s main entrance. His eyes widened as he grabbed the double doors with both hands and pushed them forward, only for him to realize something was blocking his way. The door must have been barricaded in some manner. Zach looked at this new challenge… and solved the most practical way he could, stepping toward the door… and walking past it. A deluge of furniture and chairs occupied his vision as he phased through the matter, before entering the room proper.
Before him, Zach saw hundreds of seats, all arranged in a semicircle, all facing the rostrum in the center, with an additional floor of seats poking out from the top of this truly expansive room. It was a common sight to see on television, yet there was a certain scale and impact lost just seeing close ups of fuzzy shots on a camera. It carried with it more pomp and importance than even the most renown theater, for this was where some of the most important decisions in recent history had been made.
While the room was impressive, it was far from empty, its seats filled with approximately 550 people. All members of the House, all members of the Senate, and various other politicians abound, all dressed in their usual professional garb. Which is to say various manners of suits, except for the members of the Supreme Court, who sat at the front of the room, bound in their robes.
Clearly, they did not gather here naturally. They must have been summoned, dressed, and awakened from their slumber. How or why this was could almost certainly be attributed to Weiss Vice, but the set-up was irrelevant. All that mattered was what action Zach would take.
Conversation was brewing in this room as Zach walked in, but a second after he arrived, all eyes were on him, for he just defied physics. Zach looked into the eyes of the nearest congressmen. They were confused, tired, and cautious, but they did not look at Zach with hostility. Why would they? He was a clean-cut, tall, thin, White man in a suit.
He smirked. This was the reaction he anticipated, and with all eyes on him, he took the opening to introduce himself. His voice boomed through the room, requiring no microphone to project, and carried itself effortlessly through every set of working ears in this room.
Zach: “Members of Congress. My name is Zach Vespa. And I am here to cast judgment upon you, the so-called leaders of America’s democracy. Ha! I don’t know what part of that statement is the most pathetic.”
A cacophony of noise overtook the House as Zach made his first statement. People objecting to his presence, to his insulting words, or merely casting some flavor of judgment. He could hear every word they said, clear as day, yet he chose to ignore, instead bringing an end to the noise by reaching into his jacket… and pulling out two handguns, both Beretta 92s.
The crowd went silent as they saw Zach— this strange man who defied the rules of reality— pull out a pair of guns, pointing them at the crowd. Zach’s blank expression struck fear into their minds, and many ducked for cover, hoping not to be subject to his gunfire. All were scared, not a single one stood up to be a hero. At most, they froze in place. And as Zach observed this reaction, he just laughed.
Zach: “Hahahaha! So, this is your reaction? One nut with two guns, with only 30 bullets, comes barging in. You outnumber me 563 to one. Yet you cower in fear when I threaten to kill a small fraction of you? Pathetic. Just pathetic. To think that such weak-willed people are in charge of this nation, act as arbiters for what is right and wrong. I thought you guys weren’t afraid of guns. Always going on and on about the rights of the constitution, regurgitating your own opinions, clinging to the past, and to what benefits you. I mean, why else would you have unanimously shot down legislation that would keep people away from tools with the sole purpose of ending human life?”
Zach: “My, just by looking at you, I can see what lurks in your hearts and minds. And I cannot recall the last time I’ve been surrounded by such malignant evil. …Oh, I think I just did. About 45 years ago, in Central Europe, but I won’t bother making such an obvious comparison. That’s not to say there are no good people in this batch, but if I were to generalize… I’d say 75% of you are just businessmen in this for the connections and capital. People rotten to their core, who care not for the people they are supposed to represent. You just care about yourself, playing into a role, and reaping every benefit you can. …Or, alternatively, you do believe in the government and your own American dream. …It just so happens that your dream involves upholding the structure of oppression. Heh. It’s funny how many of you are doing this and don’t even recognize it. Viewing liberalism as too radical of a foundation to even compromise with. Ratters really has shifted the spectrum of acceptable thought to the right.”
Congressperson: “Who the hell do you think you are?! Don’t talk like you know us, you piece of—”
Before listening to what this random congressman was saying, Zach fired a bullet from his Berettas, landing a clean shot to the center of the man’s forehead. He fell down to the floor a second later. Screams, naturally, followed.
Zach: “SILENCE!”
Zach’s shout was met with immediate compliance, rendering every person in this room incapable of speech. Some tried to speak despite this restriction, but not even a syllable could escape their sealed throats.
Zach: “Assuming my physics defying introduction didn’t clue you in, I am not what you would call an ordinary human. In fact, even calling myself human is inaccurate at this point. With such power, I’m sure you can imagine countless ways to abuse it, but rest assured, I do not partake in any of them. I do not seek to further my own gains. I am beyond such selfish whims, and care about the good of the world and humanity as a collective. I believe this is a noble plight, and I commit myself to it. But… do you?”
Zach: “To all who agree with the following statement, raise your right hand high. ‘I do not desire an America of equality for all, for wealth and justice to be evenly distributed regardless of class or color. I wish for a White America. An America of classes of persons, of rulers and servants, where the poor and colored are righteously oppressed while the wealthy and White are on top, granted luxury for their inherent or earned superiority’.”
Zach leaned against a chair as they punctuated their statement, and a flurry of hundreds of hands rose high. Zach’s eyes fluttered about as he rigorously counted at a pace impossible for even the most analytical person before bursting into laughter.
Zach: “BAHAHAHAHA! Of the 563 present here, I see that 407 of you agree with that statement. You might think that this is all some sick, twisted trick. That this freak with a gun— with two guns— is merely forcing you or the person beside you to raise their hand. But it’s no trick. Unlike most of the people in this room, I am not a liar. For I do not fear the truth. I embrace it.”
Snapping their fingers, Zach freed the crowd before him of their control, and they immediately began to shout and holler, voicing their disdain for the man before them, accusing him of everything they could fathom, no matter how irrelevant. Zach merely shrugged at this sight, walking down the hall to the Speaker’s rostrum. A balding man sat sitting at the top seat, yet after Zach waved around one of his Berettas, the man scurried away to the lower level, knowing well enough to not agitate the magical gunman. Zach stood tall at this platform and looked at the mic before him, adjusting it to better reach his mouth before beginning his next speech. As words began leaving his mouth, the audience became unable to speak yet again.
Zach: “America is the leader of the world. In terms of influence, relations, culture, and raw military might. Its power is undeniable, yet time and time again, this nation, which could revolutionize global society, has only perpetuated the injustices and imbalances it was founded on. Staging conflicts, denying people’s freedoms in order to maintain control, and doing all it can to keep its masses ignorant and prideful.”
Zach: “An idealist would highlight how this was never the intention of the Founding Fathers and the Holy Scripture of the Constitution. They would say that democracy, as a concept, is a glorious one. It gives people a voice regardless of their stature in life, allowing the common farmer to have as much sway as a factory owner. …But that was never true. America was never meant to be that kind of democracy. Reading between the lines, throwing away the lies manifested into facts by the American government, it is clear this was always the intention.”
Zach: “America was founded by affluent land-owning White men who felt they should not be beholden to a king whose taxes only went to his ornery thugs. They wanted representation for themselves, for the truest Men of the world, and for the rest… they cared not for them. Women were a lesser human, valuable for servitude and the perpetuation of life and continuation of dynasties. Indians were wild animals with the shape of a man, possible to be tamed and forged into humans, but their numbers were too plentiful to even try that. Negroes were mere cattle that they happily stole from their homes, bound like dogs, bred like horses, and worked like mules.”
Zach: “I do not say this out of disdain, but of a statement of fact. The founders were Men of their era. And in the past 200 years, their ideas have been challenged, amended, and transformed into something progressive. Freedom of speech, the rights for all natural citizens to vote and campaign for office, protections regardless of one’s race of sex. Progress has been made… but after 200 years of iteration, the amount of progress made has been truly pathetic. Especially when recognizing the boundless discrepancies between the ideals of the law and the reality of its enforcement.”
Zach: “There was a time when America was making good on its false promises, recognizing the power of individuals and disempowered those with an excess through regulation and taxation. It was the 30s. Some of the older among you might have lived to see such transformations with your own eyes. Yet, those halcyon days are long past, and rather than progress down this path, America has catered to the powerful. It allowed them to hold a disproportionate power over others and shape the government however they saw fit. Through advertisement, lobbying, running for office themselves, or good old bribery.”
Zach: “As a result, people have been brainwashed from their formative education, and now remain locked in a toxic— incurable— breed of ignorance. The world is currently being torn apart by the powerful. By those who seek short-term success and express a flagrant disregard for the future. By those who know the truth of the world… yet either do not care or believe in their own mythology enough to think they can force reality to abide by their desire.”
Zach: “Most of you belong to the House of Representatives… but tell me, who do you represent? What do you represent? Because it is not the common people. Not the workers who make this country, not its children, and not those who dedicated their lives to labor. It is merely to your largest donors, your benefactors, and people you intend on working with as you bring this phase of your career to a close. Whatever’s good for them is good for you, and the common people are only worth considering if you have a tenacious opponent.”
Zach: “And the worst part… is that this was all planned. Not from the outset. The founders lacked insight into the next century, let alone a world after the Industrial Revolution. This was planned by those in power, who analyzed the situation, had their smartest peons read the way of the world, and manufactured a system to keep them in power, for it benefits them. It is why the nation keeps the fundamentally flawed two-party system. It forges a simpler narrative, one with only black and white, without shades of gray, all while impeding progress as one serves as the moderate and the other as the beast. Keep it up for long enough, and they will both be walking on fours in just a few generations.”
Zach: “That is not to say there are not those before me who have good aspirations, who earnestly and truly desire to change the world for the actual better. …They are just in a clear minority, ineffectual and unable to perpetuate the change they so desire. They get the occasional win to make people think that the system is working, but never too much. The purpose of the system is to help the wealthy, the elite, the inheritors of dynasties. Talks of revolution have been muttered for far too long, and now… it’s time for action.
Zach: “It’s time to wipe the slate clean, destroy the system these wretched creatures have created, and replace it with something immune to the same vulnerabilities. A government truly for the people, with their best interests in heart. A government that does not look toward the past with forlorn fetishism, but toward the future with optimism and a desire to go with the changing tide of the people. A government that will deprive others of their riches if there are still people dying in the streets. And a government that is not crafted toward the betterment of specific races, sexes, or classes, but for the entirety of humanity.”
Zach: “I dream of an American not of the past or of any forgotten tradition, but one of modernity. One of progress, love, respect, and sustainability. I speak not of a perfect nation. But of a nation I have seen with my own eyes and one that I will manifest into reality. But before I can pull the needed strings to transform America into a true socialist democracy, most of you… must die. And while I would love to start with your king, my brother is taking care of him at the moment. So, I shall start with the second-most severe defiler of justice. The Supreme Court.”
Below Zach, sitting on the lowest level of the rostrum, sat the nine justices of the Supreme Court, the highest court in the land, dressed in their black robes. They were Alfred Kikansky, Milton Ravenhurst, Arthur Scarmiglione, Sally Condor, Jerry Pete Schmuckers, Heywood Broderbund, Thor Malone, Bobby Wilters, and B.J. Wattson.
As Zach arrived before them, they all remained seated, their feet locked to the ground. They looked at each other as Zach looked over them, a Beretta still in hand. He waved it in the direction of the nine justices, looking them over before approaching the first one on his left.
Zach: “Alfred Kikansky! You only joined the Court earlier this year, so I cannot say much about your performance. …But I have seen your future, how you will carry yourself in the coming decades, and I cannot say there is anything that impresses me. You are an ally of the old power structure, and while you may harbor some care and consideration for others, it is not enough. Ratters appointed you for a reason, because he saw you as an ally who would be seen as a moderate, when you truly are not. You are just as conservative as him. And for your malice toward the greater good, I sentence you to death.”
With a pull of the Beretta’s trigger, a bullet flew into Kikansky’s skull. The hot lead tore through the physical storage of his memories, destroying them and rendering his brain into little more than a wad of mushy hamburger meat.
Zach: “Milton Ravenhurst! What a repugnant piece of shit you are! Braun v. The Board of Education, Woe v. Radd, two tent pole cases you had the opportunity to cast humane judgment on, yet you failed! You believe in segregating the Whites from the Negroes, and believe that women should not have basic autonomy over their bodies. But I think the most damning thing is how incapable your imagination is. You consistently ruled in favor of Whites during affirmative action cases, and you only became sympathetic to equal protections when Whites began claiming discrimination. You made your evils clear to all with eyes, and for that, I shall make you suffer.”
Reaching over the stand with one hand, Zach yanked Ravenhurst out of his seat and slammed him to the floor. Blood was seeping from the back of his head, and as he looked up at Zach in a plea for pity, Zach slammed his foot against his chest, cracking two rib cages in a single strike. Ravenhurst tried to scream, but all he could do was make a strained expression and cry, silently begging for mercy. Yet Zach had no mercy to give.
Zach leaned closer to Ravenhurst and pulled a small claw-like object from his sleeve. An object that he promptly stuck into Ravenhurst’s eyes, impaling them, twisting them, before yanking them out. The nerves made an audible snap when severed. Ravenhurst continued to scream, but with blood pouring out of his body from three places, his death was an inevitability. Mere seconds later, his face froze into an unsightly shape, made all the more disturbing by his bleeding vacant eyeholes.
Zach: “Arthur Scarmiglione! You are one of the worst men I have ever laid eyes on. Any suffering I could lay upon you would be a kindness so long as it ends in the sweet release of death. I know you’re planning on striking down Woe v. Radd. I know you’re seething at your chance to pounce on any opportunity to put down women or Blacks. And I know you will stop at nothing to enable states to criminalize gay sex, because it goes against your ‘Catholic’ values. You call yourself an originalist and textualist, but that’s just a front. Deep down you are a being of unprecedented hatred, who rationalizes it to fuel his own agenda. You are the epitome of everything wrong with this wretched system. For that, you will burn eternally, and considering your namesake, I find that quite fitting.”
Before Scarmiglione could say anything, his body had already erupted in flames. He was permitted the luxury of screaming in agony as his skin burned into ash and muscles acted as kindling, screaming even as he was reduced to a mere skeleton. Even without flesh, the fire burned on the fuel of his hatred, the heat cracking his very bones. He continued to shout, continued to beg, but eventually, the very structure of his being. His body was reduced to mere dust, gathered on his unaffected chair.
Zach sent their hand through this dust, reaching past the desk before him, and pulled out a small stone. It almost looked like a piece of amber, yet the stone was a deep red and the interior was not of a static creature, frozen in time for millions of years. Instead, they were squirming erratically, while surrounded by a shifting array of colors. It was hard to make out at a glance, but it was a fire, forever burning, within this red amber, and trapped within this flame, was a tiny insect. The new, more appropriate, form of Arthur Scarmiglione. Sentenced to burn eternally in hellfire.
Zach: “Sally Condor! You had a lot riding on you as the first woman to join the Supreme Court. You could have been a shining light for women as a whole… yet you sided by Ravenhurst 87% of the time during your first three years! Do I even need to say more? You were merely a plant to placate people who desired the veneer of progressive shifts, when you were no better than a man in every regard beyond your aesthetic. You even fought against Woe v. Radd, and for what? To prove that women act as men in the pursuit of power? That they could dispense the type of justice the powerful desired? Well, I guess you proved yourself… and proved that you have no place in the new order.”
Rather than give her a flashy execution, Zach merely took aim for Condor’s heart and fired three bullets. Not out of malice, out of a desire to end her life as swiftly as possible. And he did. Condor’s head fell to the desk before her in a thud, hair covering half her face while her one visible eye stared off into nothingness.
Zach: “Jerry Pete Schmuckers! …You voted to reinstate capital punishment, and while your track record is not complete dogshit, I can see where you will be in due time. Unlike most of these bastards around me, you actually do have the capacity to change. You don’t just stick to an ideology like it’s a cornerstone of your identity, and actually give a shit about gay people and women’s autonomy. A person like you is right on the line for what I am willing to accept, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
There was a second of silence after Zach passed his judgment of Schmuckers, but as that second expired, he drew his gun and fired it, killing Schmuckers the same way he killed Kikansky. With a civilized bullet to the brain.
Zach: “Heywood Broderbund! …You were the author of Woe v. Radd, and for that, you get major points. You fought for gay rights and wrote that scathing dissent two years back. And you supported affirmative action, combating racism, and even the rights of immigrants. …For a registered lifelong Republican appointed by Dick Licksen of all people, you’re alright.”
In a move that surprised nearly everybody in this room, Zach reached his hand out to Broderbund and with a shaky hand, Broderbund accepted a handshake. His face was twisted in an award fear, but Zach was all smiles and even reached over to pat this geriatric man on the back. …Before immediately moving over to the next judge.
Zach: “Thor Malone! The only Black man appointed to the Court, and the best damn justice present here! Always voting for the rights of the people, for equal protections, for the police to be held to a rightful standard, for women’s rights, and against capital punishment. One of the most leftward judges in the history of the Court, your contributions were only undermined thanks to the conservative dipshits appointed by Licksen. You were a foundational attorney for establishing Civil Rights and you even represented Braun in Braun v. The Board of Education. You could have fallen into place, accepted the Court’s conservative slop in order to fit in, but you had good principles, and stood by them for twenty years.”
Zach looked up at Malone with as much respect as he could, while Malone nodded, proud on some level to be recognized for his lifelong efforts to make this country a better place. In fact, Zach was so happy to praise him that he even leapt over the desk to give Malone a hug. It was incredibly awkward, but the sentiment was there.
Zach: “Bobby Wilters! You wrote the dissent on Woe v. Radd, you piece of shit! Your insistence on states’ rights and weakening federal civil rights firmly aligns you with the side of oppression and evil as far as I’m concerned. And your disdain for due process makes it plain as day which side you really supported. I know you tried to play it cool. Tried to be a moderate, tried to appease both sides. Sure, you figured that it was unconstitutional to execute a minor for the crime of rape, but does that really mean much beyond you not being a complete psycho? I think not. It’s time for you to wilt away.”
Not letting a good pun go to waste, Zach snapped his fingers, and caused Wilters’s body to… wilt. It was as if the water were rapidly being drained from his being. Glasses slid off his face, his bald head shriveled up like a raisin, and as he reached for Zach, Wilters felt his arms grow limp. He tried to eke out some final words, make a vain attempt to defend himself, but it was already too late. His body collapsed like a tossed tissue, his life completely drained.
Zach: “B.J. Wattson! …Your 32 years on this court have seen you oversee some of the most important cases of the century. Women’s rights, civil rights, and gay rights, seeing what this nation could be, rather than what it was. You navigated around the conservatives, tried to twist the moderates’ stances to align with your views, and played the game while striving for ideals. And unlike Scarmiglione, you did not let your choice in faith blind you to hatred. You played your role about as well as I could expect, and for that, you can retire under the leadership of the next president.”
Yet again, Zach held out his hand, and Watson shook it, his face rigid after seeing six people die right next to him. He didn’t even seem phased, he was just glad that he wasn’t dead.
Zach looked at the speechless audience before him and bowed, viewing his execution of six members of the Supreme Court as something to be proud of. He chuckled at his own gesture before returning up to the top of the rotunda to begin the next phase.
Zach: “Now, that felt good. And for as much as I would love to see into all of your souls, executing you like a pack of rabid dogs, I need to accelerate things. My brother should be wrapping up soon, and I have a world to save. …And in this saved world… we will have no need for people like 72% of you. I already have the perfect candidates in mind for your replacements and come election season, come 1989, this entire room— this entire complex— will be cleansed. Almost 28% of you are worthy and shall retain your stature, but for the rest of you… it’s time to rid yourselves of this veneer of humanity. Time to embrace your White rage!”
Following that declaration, Zach panned his hands across the entire room, and caused the bodies of 156 members of Congress to become coated in a flurry of multi-colored lights. They shined even in the darkest parts of this expansive chamber, and as the lights faded, all that was left was… a playing card? A card featuring their name, face, and basic information about who they were. Just after these cards appeared and before they could fall to the ground, they flew into Zach’s free hand, filling it with three decks’ worth of cards.
Before doing anything with these people turned cards, Zach turned to the three living Supreme Court justices, Heywood Broderbund, Thor Malone, and B.J. Wattson. With a wave of his hand, they also transformed into cards and joined the deck.
Satisfied, Zach turned back to the remaining people before him… and saw that it had already begun. They were convulsing and groaning, their bodies protruding and growing in unsightly ways, and their unique features, however few they may be, faded away as they became Whiterats. Just like a billion other people, they succumbed to Weiss’s White Awakening, yet this time… it was not just White people.
Among the members of Congress, there were a select few Black people who were not transformed into cards by Zach. And for a simple reason. While they were born as and lived as Black men, they did not identify with what that meant. They fixated on themselves, distanced themselves from their race except for times when it would not benefit them. They did not care for their people, they cared for the approval of the Whites, about being ‘one of the good ones’. For their loyalty to the regime of oppression, they were accepted into the flock, deprived of their race, of their identity, of their mind, and granted Whiteness. Raw, corrupted, and twisted Whiteness that rendered them not as humans, but as beasts.
It was a complex issue that piqued Zach’s attention as he saw his theory be proven correct… but it did not matter at this moment. What mattered was that there were hundreds of Whiterats running toward him. Leaping out of the seats overhead, crawling over their chairs, leaping onto desks, and brandishing their sharp appendages, eager to maul the human before them.
At this sight, Zach smirked, pulled out one of his Berettas, and… shot himself in the head, muttering his final words even after the bullet ingrained itself into his brain.
Zach: “For the future… of humanity… you must die.”
As Zach’s body began to fall to the floor, something stopped it. Not the legion of Whiterats eager to kill him, but an appendage that emerged from his head. A black insect-like limb that was soon joined by many others, bursting from his entire body in a manner bereft of sense or practicality. These new appendages did nothing to dissuade the Whiterats, who proceeded to pile themselves onto Zach. They covered him with layers upon layers of Whiterats, all joined in a mountain as they pushed each other aside to satiate their hunger for hot human flesh. They bite, slashed, and tossed each other as they sought to reach the center… only for dozens to be impaled by a black tendril reached out to the ceiling above, penetrating all in its path.
This was followed by another sharp tendril, then another, then another dozen, and more, and more. They continued until Every Whiterat was dead or dying, and in this dismal, hopeless state, something vibrated from the core of this mountain of Whiterats. The remaining Whiterats looked toward it with confusion, only to be eviscerated a second later.
Thousands upon thousands of limbs all fired off from the Capitol, and destroyed everything in a frenzied rage, leaving behind nothing but ruin. The building was shattered into its barest pieces, the foundation was torn deep enough to sever the pipes, and everything up to the Ulysses S. Grant Memorial was utterly destroyed.
As the dust settled, a lone figure emerged from the darkness in the form of Zach, his suit dirty and his face bearing a tired yet satisfied expression.
Zach: “I wish that this was not necessary, but to reclaim this world, this nation, these destructive institutions must fall. And from the rubble, we can rebuild. We can make it anew, better than ever, and without the same exploitable flaws that people have had two hundred years to resolve. …But that is for later. I have done my part, and assuming Vice has taken care of Ratters, we can move on to the main event. Here’s hoping that all these precautions actually work.”
With a fatigued sigh, Zach looked down at his watch. 1:45. He groaned at how much time had passed. Looking up at the white veil, he could see it fading away, weakened from the loss of whatever power it derived from the politicians he so inelegantly slaughtered. With no more time to lose, he broke off into a sprint, heading to The White House.
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