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 13: The Evils of Richard Rooadoot Ratters
Date: Monday, August 15, 1988
Time: 5:15 UTC – 01:15 LT
Location: The White House, Washington, D.C.
Black Vice stared at the White House with determination. They stood at the southern lawn of the home, still dressed in their elaborate ‘Columbia’ get-up. A long white skirt, flowing yellow top, blue sash along the waist, a bright red kingly cape cast off to one side, and a headband supporting a giant flopping pink and gold feather. They looked positively ridiculous, yet they did not seem to mind.
They brought a hand to their soft, dark chin as they mused over how to enter this building, looking past the immense building before them and at their true destination off in the west wing. It did not look to be the appropriate center of command… yet it was. Tucked away behind many trees and bushes to impede any shooters or spies, yet still placed next to a goldarn window. It was at ground-level, basically accessible by pavement, and if Vice wanted to make an entrance… it wasn’t going to be through a door.
Black Vice: “Oh fie, oh bother, when I have so many options before me, it is always a pain to choose. …Yet with a stick-in-the-mud like old Ratters, I think something more… youthful and ornery would be appropriate.”
Confident with themself, Vice looked at their route. They were already on the private paved road encircling the southern lawn, so they could get started here and now. Vice slammed their purple sneakers onto the asphalt, causing a sizable chunk to bounce off and into the air, where it spun around, shedding its rocky exterior and revealing…. A skateboard.
Smirking at their own wit, Vice smacked the board down and hopped onto it, riding down the pavement with ease before turning onto the sidewalk that led right to the Oval Office. They could see the windows. Fortified, protective, and with numerous metal bars. Enough to stop most people, but not Vice.
Vice could make it through whatever laid before them, but they needed some air time to make their impact sufficiently extreme. With their destination rapidly approaching, they popped an ollie, and the impact onto the sidewalk was powerful enough to morph the ground, forming a meter-tall ramp. Which would give Vice just enough clearance.
They launched a kickflip off this newly created ramp, letting the wind ripple through their clothes as their body and board rushed for the window, where they triumphantly crashed on impact. Metal bent, glass flew everywhere, and for the fraction of a second, Vice saw exactly who they expected to see. President of the United States of America. Richard Rooadoot Ratters. He was facing away from Vice, sitting down, looking at his desk, but from the suit, his big old man ears, and his dark head of hair, Vice was certain this was his target.
Vice had a fraction of a second to orient themself, and they did. Shifting their weight, maneuvering the board, and thrusting the bottom of it into Ratter’s head, pressing all of their weight, all of their body’s force, onto it. An audible snap creaked out of Ratters’s neck, and his head collided into the desk with enough force to make his entire body flinch.
After landing this strike, Vice leaped off the skateboard, twirling in the air, before landing on the iconic coffee table in the center of the room, narrowly avoiding a vase of flowers. They posed as they landed, if only to stroke their own ego, before looking at Ratters, his head lying in a sea of papers and his arms limp. There was no resistance, no sound of pain, merely the sight of a body with a not insignificant amount of blood pouring from its ear.
Vice stepped off the coffee table to take a closer look, only to pause as a positively rank odor filled their nostrils. They turned around to see that the walls of this office… were stained with a white substance. A substance that covered the wallpaper and coated the portraits of the presidents— excluding Lincoln, whose portrait was lying on the floor. Even the carpet below was far more moist than it should have been. On sight alone, this was ambiguous, but Vice knew what this was before they even laid eyes on it.
Black Vice: “How the fuck’d you make all this cum?”
As Vice asked this rhetorical question, the body of Ratters… rose from its desk. Its hands shakily latched onto the desk while the head drooped about, unable to stand up straight. The impact from Vice was enough to shatter their neck and upper spine. That would have killed most people but, clearly, that did not apply to Ratters.
Ratters looked at Vice with an unfocused expression, eyes drifting in odd directions, while clumsily bringing his hands to his pants, shoving his right hand down there and pulling it out. His crusty geriatric dick, with wrinkles upon wrinkles and a tuft of wild dark hairs growing from the base. Vice looked at this almost-dead man’s erection, raising an eyebrow in fascination, and Ratters… began to masturbate. He clenched his cock in a death grip, stroking with as much rigor as his bony hands could muster, just working his meat in a desperate attempt to get off as quickly and as hard as possible. Then, after nearly a minute of this discomforting sight, he did it.
From Ratters’s cock, he unleashed not just the standard squirt of cum that could travel maybe a few inches. Oh no. He unleashed a mighty burst, one moving with the strength and veracity of a speeding bullet. Vice saw what was coming and, with a deft movement of a hand, was able to deflect the semen, moving so fast that not even a drop fell on them. The wad of cum instead collided with a statue of a man on a horse, where it ripped the head off and knocked the statue down to the floor. Vice kept their eyes locked to the dark, lifeless eyes of Ratters as he slumped back in his chair, his head craning so far back he could almost look out the shattered window.
With a shrug, Vice moseyed around the desk, and grabbed Ratters, holding him up, shaking him about, before throwing him down onto the glass-filled carpet below.
Black Vice: “He’s dead. But just to be absolutely certain, let me just…”
Vice raised their purple sneaker-clad foot above the Ratters’s head and stomped it with enough force to shatter it like a rotten pumpkin. His skull broke into a dozen pieces, teeth scattered from his mouth, eyes popped out, his brains oozed into his hair, and his red blood splattered onto Vice’s clothes.
Black Vice: “God, that felt good. …A bit anticlimactic though, dontcha thing, Ratters?”
Vice turned their head to the rest of the cum-stained room of the Oval Office, narrowing their vision on the, now headless, statue of a man riding a horse. There was something lurking behind it. Something white and slimy, about the size and shape of a forearm. This undefined thing moved as Vice uttered the name ‘Ratters’ and before it could flee, Vice zipped across the room, moving at an inhuman pace, and grabbed this white goo, hurling it into one of the couches of the Oval Office.
The white slimy thing landed with a wet thud, its form sinking down from the back of the sofa onto the seat, where its body began to take a more defined form. That of a… Whiterat. A tiny one, roughly a sixth as large as any other, their body barely extending past 30 centimeters, but… there was something different about their form. They had the face of a Whiterat, the tail, and the features of one. But rather than be covered by a coat of pale pinkish skin, their body was made of a viscous white fluid… that came from Ratters’s cock. It was a miniature Whiterat made entirely out of cum.
Its eyes, its teeth, its tiny little claws, its tail, and even its little rat dick, all were made of varying forms of semen, some hardened into solids, others still a liquid. It was a truly repulsive looking creature, bearing the rank musk of a bucket of lukewarm cum, with a twisted, ugly mug, and a body that was so overwhelmingly moist it stained every inch of the couch it touched. Yet, Vice did not look at them with disdain or disgust. In fact, they smiled as they saw him, and calmly sat on the couch across from them.
Black Vice: “That’s a slick new look you’ve got going for you, Ratters.”
Ratters: “Up yours, n***er! The fuck are you trying to do?”
His voice was raspy and hoarse, yet Ratters the cum rat still managed to retain his usual speaking voice, just a bit more raw than normal, matching his new vernacular.”
Black Vice: “My, isn’t that obvious? I wanted to have a conversation with the beloved president who won by a landslide— twice— but in his truest form. A form where he is not burdened by euphemisms or careful wording. Just the pure, unfiltered, id that I know you hold deep inside.”
Ratters: “You think I’ll speak to a monkey like you? Get the fuck out of here! You n***ers are all the same! Thinking you deserve everything just ‘cos God made you ugly. There’s a reason I haven’t fucked one of your kind in a long time. Because you don’t even make my dick feel good! And if I want real human pussy, I know how to get it. Any pussy in the whole fucking world, whatever the flavor, I can get it by the truckload! Ages 8 to 80, and even younger than that! If I don’t trust ’em, and why would I, I could fuckin’ kill them too! No matter if they’re n***ers, bitches, or real people, I could get them killed! Real good, real quick! And don’t think I couldn’t kill a monkey bitch like you! All I gotta do is call my rats to come and fuck your face in!”
Even as Ratters hurled insults like they were rotten fruit, Vice did not balk. They were not offended. They were grinning ear-to-ear, leaning back, and savoring every word that came out of this creature’s sloppy wet mouth.
Black Vice: “And what would you say if I wasn’t a n***er, and wasn’t a woman? Truth be told, this is merely an assumed form. I was born a White man, one of noble Aryan features—”
As Vice said Aryan, Ratters ejaculated out of his tiny rat dick. Vice acknowledged that this rat made of cum just came… but chose not to question it. Sometimes, it’s best to let mysteries be mysteries.
Black Vice: “…Yet, I chose to assume this form, as I find it more comfortable and fitting for the person I have become. What do you think about that, Ratters?”
Ratters: “Bahahahaha! Holy fuck! You’re not just a n***er! you’re a retard, a n***er, and a faggot! A regular old RNF!”
In response to this, Vice just broke out into hysterics. Leaning back into the chair, clenching their belly, and kicking their feet up and down while struggling to breathe.
Black Vice: “I will say, you do not disappoint. I’ve waited a loooong time to see you face-to-face like this, for I know where you came from, what you’ve done, and how heinous your true legacy shall be. Over all the years I’ve walked this world, I’ve come to really value this level of honesty, and now that I have you in your rawest form, I don’t want to just kill you. Because I might never have this opportunity again. So consider this a… conversation.”
Ratters: “Like I said, I ain’t talking to no RNF! I’ve got better things to do, like jack it watching them n***ers get gobbled up by real Americans! It’s one thing to put a n***er in jail, watch them go wild as they embrace the gorilla within. But there’s nothing I wanted to see more than a n***er getting what was coming to him with a good old-fashioned lynching! So why in God’s sweet name would I ever willingly talk with a retard n***er faggot like you?”
In response, Vice pulled out a shotgun from nowhere and aimed it directly at Ratters’s face.
Black Vice: “Because either you talk, or you die. And I think you are in a rather chatty mood, are you not?”
Ratters: “Fucking retards thinking that they should give n***ers the right to bear arms. All they do with ’em is kill other n***ers!”
Black Vice: “…So, will you chat with me if I put the gun away?”
Ratters: “I’d rather be dead than yapping with a fag like you!”
Smirking, Vice poofed the gun away, sending it off to some unseen realm.
Black Vice: “I choose to interpret that as a yes. Here, maybe this will calm you down and get you to eke out the truth. As the Romans said, in vino veritas.”
Snapping their fingers, Vice adorned the coffee table before them with a glass of red California wine, a large saucer of wine, and a bowl full of assorted Jelly Belly jelly beans. Vice promptly grabbed the glass of wine and took a sip, letting the flavors sift through their mouth as they observed Ratters’s less dignified reaction. For when presented with wine, he immediately leapt onto the table and started planting his face into the saucer, sucking up the wine like a dog on the brink of dehydration. Only after drinking a fifth of this stuff did he move over to the jelly beans, shoving one into his mouth before taking another and crumbling it into the wine.
Black Vice: “Is he a rat or a rat-coon? …I suppose it doesn’t matter. Now that you’re drunk, sugared up, and all happy, maybe you’re in a question answering mood.”
Ratters: “I can’t stand an RNF like you, but if you keep giving me wine this delicious, I’ll talk till sunrise!”
Black Vice: “Marvelous. …I guess my first question would be to ask how you sleep with yourself.”
Ratters: “Easy! In my big bed with my wife!”
Black Vice: “Ha! Can’t say I didn’t see that answer coming… But do I even need to list all the crimes you are responsible for? You took the national debt, bloated to a trillion during the hardships of the 70s and Vietnam war, and nearly tripled it to 2.85 trillion, all while claiming responsible spending. You saw the regulation that your predecessors put into place, and ripped them to shreds, allowing companies to run rampant, enabling them to lay the seeds of disasters that won’t be fully understood for decades.”
Black Vice: “You fed people bullshit economics based on a damn napkin sketch with no real scientific basis. The rich do not trickle down their savings to the common folks. They just get richer while the middle class shrinks and more people float around poverty. But still, you pressed on with lower and lower taxes for the wealthy, all while racking up debt for the Democrats to fix. Or, my favorite, the fact that you committed high treason, selling weapons to a foreign nation as part of proxy wars to strengthen America’s global influence. Killing… hundreds of thousands of people in the process.”
Black Vice: “Ever since you got into politics, you have played the role of a villain, striving for power at all costs because you saw what America was becoming and you didn’t like it. There was a time when I would have agreed with how you cracked down on cheap tuition, keeping the proletariat from accessing knowledge so freely. …But that rendition of me also enjoyed fucking little girls as they cried for their mothers. Do you like—”
Ratters, who had begun taking a bath in his saucer of wine, let out a grunt as this sexual fantasy entered their mind. Seconds later, a small tuft of semen oozed from his rat dick.
Black Vice: “That is, emphatically, a yes. …Though, I cannot blame everything on you. You were cast into the role of a villain, and did a better job at cleaning it up than any of your predecessors. This nation was politically fucked after the assassination of JFK and the ‘alienation’ of the Civil Rights movement. Licksen saw his opening, seized power, and after he was ‘resigned’ and brought in the fuck-up-fiesta of the 70s, Americans were bitter and disillusioned. They saw the US government as the corrupt shitheap that it was, and wanted reassurance, wanted safety, and after Joey Cobalt failed to bring forth the revolution, the nation sought further change. They sought security. And you just happened to be the security chosen for the job.”
Black Vice: “You laid the foundation for a new breed of conservatism. For an America that believed it had lost its way, that did not want to progress forward and change things, but reclaim the glory days. Back before Blacks got uppity and started thinking that they were humans. Back when women were happy to have a husband and vote. And back when the American family was so simple. A sanitized— corrupted— view of the past deprived of any nuance or analysis, feeding into nothing more than nostalgia for an era where people didn’t need to deal with stagflation, gays, and complicated social issues”
Black Vice: “When faced with insecurity, many of these people can only look back to a better time. It is easier for them to imagine the world ending than imagine the world growing into something better than it used to be. All because of the narrow, ignorant perspective that men like you have taught them.”
Ratters: “It ain’t my fault people want this! I just give them what they want and they keep begging for more! You know the people love me. They don’t like whatever retarded shit you’re trying to push!”
Vice rolled their eyes at Ratter’s statement, gulping down a sizable sip of wine before responding.
Black Vice: “Why yes, people do love you, mostly White people. But can you really even call them people at this point? Being an ally to Klansmen who became living demons is hardly a point in your favor. I’m sure if you were to ask any of the brave Black men or women fighting just outside of this little force field of yours, they would have none too kind words for you. For they would be able to see through the lies and imagine something better.”
Ratters: “Ha! See something better? Those stupid n***ers had a century to wake up and see the actual truth and catch up to the Whites, but they didn’t. They kept themselves divided, kept themselves away, and have denied themselves equal footing. They are the real animals, the real beasts, and them darkies have no one else to blame but themselves. We made ’em equal, and if they can’t stay equal, that’s ‘cos they don’t deserve to be equal!”
Black Vice: “Oh, that’s just rich. And what does that ‘century’ figure refer to? When Lincoln freed the slaves? The facts are not that simple. Black men and women were free, but they did not receive assets, no reparations. Instead, in the eyes of the White, they went from the servile underclass to a race of burgeoning criminals. Tell me, Ratters, what was the thirteenth amendment?”
Ratters: “The fuck is this? Middle school? ‘Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall exist within the United States—’”
Black Vice: “‘—Except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted.’ And you know what the funny thing about laws is? About states rights? They can change at any time. And while these laws did, technically, apply to everyone, that does not mean they need to be enforced the same way. Just because something is illegal does not mean you need to punish certain people for it.”
Black Vice: “Walking alongside a train track. Loitering about town. Talking loudly. Disturbing a fertile White woman. Daring to break their contract— a Contract that, per decades of state-mandated illiteracy, they were unable to understand. These laws were seldom ever used to punish the White man, for they were intended to only ever apply to Black men. If they were so inclined, they could brand any n****r a criminal, and with a White judge and jury, none would question it. For they were as guilty as their skin was dark.”
Black Vice: “Gone was the Halcyon era where slaves were treated with the respect a White would give a horse. Gone were the days where slaves were investments for the wealthy, ones who were provided with nourishment, housing, and medicine. Instead, they became tools. Tools to rent out on a daily basis. Tools that, if they were to break, the renter didn’t need to pay shit. Without the ability to treat them as assets, crackers went about killing n***as for sport.”
Ratters just nodded cooly in response to that accusation, uncaring to hide it as he stuffed another jelly bean into his mouth.
Black Vice: “Unlike you, I’ve seen that. And unlike any Black person still alive today, I felt it. I even saw it. The vicious joy from Whites as they are free to tear away their masks and unleash the beast within. As they are allowed to vent their hatred of the lesser race. I have firsthand witnessed the immense pain, the horrific confirmation that flows through the mind of a lynched American Negro as he realizes that everything he feared about the Whites was unabashedly true. That they were just as evil and inhuman as he was led to believe.”
Black Vice: “In the past decades, things have gotten better… but Black people have still been denied so much. The GI bills and new housing developments following WWII granted countless Americans the ability to buy and own land, allowing them to accrue generational wealth. Allowing them to live comfortably, without fear of a rent spike or the costs of moving their every belonging. I don’t need to tell you that this was a Whites-only thing though, now do I?”
Black Vice: “By restricting their access to housing, Black people were left unable to accumulate wealth through property ownership. Combined with low wages and rising rent costs, the only natural outcome is poverty. Poverty leads to desperation. Desperation leads to crime. To theft over essentials they are denied by the machinations of society. Poverty leads to depression. Depression that urges one to escape. To numb their senses with the power of drugs. Poverty leads to a lack of education. A lack of education leads to a cycle, where uneducated parents are forced to enter the labor market early… and have uneducated children who do much the same.”
Ratters: “You trying to make a point with something? I didn’t have anything to do with the GI bills! I didn’t start this shit! Why are you trying to make me out to be the villain here?”
Black Vice: “I am doing nothing more than stating the facts and proving you wrong. Highlighting the injustices faced by Black people over the decades. …But you are as guilty over this as anyone. For you had the power to correct the mistakes of a past generation, yet allowed them to stand as they are. Now, where was I?”
Vice looked impatiently around the room, rubbing their chin as they pondered what point to tackle next.
Black Vice: “Men of your character have denied Black folks reparations for over a century, refused to give them the tools and wealth they needed to become equal to their pasty-fleshed peers. Because for as much posturing as you might do about all being created equal, you don’t want that. You want an underclass. Someone you can point at as the cause for all of society’s ills. A distraction for the masses to blame, someone for them to look down at so they don’t think to look up.”
Black Vice: “Maybe I’m expecting too much. After all, chattel slavery did not end in this country until 1942. All to save face against the rape-happy Japanese. Black people were not given human rights until just over two decades ago. And when they were too demanding, when they asked for even more, your kind had their leaders killed. And when they still wouldn’t shut their noise holes, this office did all they could to make being Black a crime.”
Black Vice: “Oh, what was it that that Licksen aide, Eldritchjun, said? ‘The Licksen White House had two enemies. The antiwar left and Black people. We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be against the war or Black. But by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and Blacks with heroin, then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course, we did.’ And when Licksen’s gross abuse of power demolished his career, you became his successor.”
Black Vice: “You didn’t start this war, but you perpetuated it all the same. You saw that Black people were making use of recreational drugs and chose to vilify them as a means of exerting control. You allowed pigs to continue to impose harsher justice upon these communities, searching the people more vigorously. You implemented mandatory minimum sentences and eliminated federal parole, causing even non-violent criminals to be carted away for years, if not decades. In doing so, you removed these people from their communities. You robbed households of their fathers, forced mothers to act as single parents. And branded offenders as felons.”
Black Vice: “Felonies are a tool for lifelong discrimination. They target the poor and create an underclass. They enable discrimination by virtue of merit, and stick with people throughout their entire lives. If someone gets slapped with one as a teenager, then the state can just deny them countless opportunities for the rest of their lives.”
Ratters: “You act like the laws only apply to Black people, but most felons in this country are White.”
Black Vice: “Oh yes, they are. …But do you know how slim the margins are? Over 40% of the prison population is Black. And Black people make up a scant 12% of the population. Just large enough to be an unignorable part of this nation’s identity, but the perfect size for an underclass.”
Ratters: “Like it’s my fault that n****rs do more crimes, that they’re more violent and cannot stop scarfing down that crack!”
This line brought a smile to Vice’s face. Not out of agreement with Ratters’ vitriolic sentiment, but because they just knew he would go there sooner or later.
Black Vice: “Conviction is not about who does more crimes, it’s about what the police catch and want to report. When White teens do shit worse than any Black teen would think of doing, they are given a slap on the wrist, excused because ‘boys will be boys.’ When White youths do it, they’re just kids. When Black youths do the same thing, they get treated as adults who need to learn a hard lesson by serving hard time. There’s no better expression of this dichotomy than how you criminalized the White man’s cocaine and the Black man’s crack. It’s the same damn thing, but they’re assigned a different class of criminality. 5 grams of crack or 500 grams of cocaine, and they’re off to jail for 5 years, at a minimum!”
Ratters: “Crack makes n****rs into monkeys! It’s more addictive, it makes their violent urges go feral, and just 5 grams is enough to rot their brain!”
Black Vice: “That’s a load of shit, and you damn well know it! Your hatred of Black people goes without question! You denied them welfare, unemployment benefits, food stamps, general assistance, and even property. And don’t even get me started on the myth of the ‘welfare queen’ that you planted into the masses’ heads. As if anybody could manage to abuse a system so rigid and tight-ass to be living lavishly off of government checks. You have done all this, yet you still have the audacity to claim you felt anything but contempt, but disdain, for Black people?”
Ratters: “You’re asking me to respect people who take the lives of members of their own community? If these people cannot discipline themselves when given their own communities, why should they be allowed to even mingle with others? N****rs are a creature naturally disposed to such things. Robberies, forming their little gangs to kill each other, shuffling around crack so they can feel more like the dogs they are. I did what the n****rs asked for. They thought it was the best for them, and with 1 in 14 of them behind bars, they’re better now than ever before!”
Black Vice: “Oh, don’t you dare point at examples of ‘Black excellence.’ I don’t care if you invited pop sensation Tigre Dashin to the White House. I know it was just publicity. It always is with men like you. Looking somewhat progressive is meant to hide the cold, dark truth that lurks within your soul. It’s not black, it’s not white, it’s just rotten.”
Ratters: “Please, who was the motherfucker who made MLK day a Federal holiday?”
Black Vice: “You. But did you actually want to?”
Ratters: “…I didn’t want my points to drop.”
Black Vice: “Oh my. You really are a victim here, now aren’t you? It’s not like you were personally responsible for anything you ever did. Not like you were a national leader who could choose how things were done. Fuck off! You chose to put 6.6 million into poverty. Are you ashamed of your actions? Or do they make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?”
Vice shot Ratters a vengeful look upon saying this, but he was barely paying attention, plopping a jelly bean into his mouth and scratching his belly.
Black Vice: “You closed down state hospitals, let people who needed medical care run free, denied any treatment, all because you wanted to ‘deregulate’. I’d say it was just your way of showing your disdain for cripples and people with mental disabilities, but it’s more than that. You want America to be a nation of loyal laborers, rich executives, obedient children, devout soldiers, birthing homemakers, and geriatrics whose social security is siphoned away. Anybody who does not fit into that mold is a burden. So, what did you do with those who needed additional help to live? You made them a nuisance. If people’s only experience with a ‘schizo’ is is insane people on street corners and murderers, then they will vote to have the lot of them killed. Sorry. I misspoke. You would lack the dignity to say you want to kill them. You just want them to disappear, dontcha?”
Black Vice: “You even stole food from children, taking an axe to free lunch programs, replacing their food with processed shit, and lowering the income thresholds for students to eat at school. A wealthy country, a sane nation, would want to provide its children, its students, with adequate nourishment to learn and grow. To become strong, smart, healthy adults. Though, I suppose I should not expect such wisdom from the likes of you.”
Black Vice: “Oh, and let’s not even talk about the gays! You stood by and allowed the gays to be killed by AIDS, choosing to silently recognize it as a form of divine justice, rather than what it truly was. A plague assaulting the nation, killing hundreds of thousands of people and infecting millions. Yet… you did not care an iota until it affected one of your friends. You had the opportunity to fund treatments for this disease, but you refused!”
Ratters: “Of course I did! America was a better nation before the faggots thought they could be free, when they fucking can’t! Freedom was always supposed to be conditional! It was never for retards, faggots, cunts, and n***ers! And by trying to make it for them, things just keep getting fucked up!”
This answer was precisely what Vice expected, yet they were still disappointed. Even coming from an unfiltered physical manifestation of a monster’s id, that was a bit much.
Black Vice: “That’s what you really want, huh? Freedom for me, not for thee? Christ, is it sobering to hear someone say that so plainly. …But in maintaining your rigid views, you seem to have forgotten something crucial. What was it that JFK said about revolution? ‘Those that make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.’ And you sure as shit made peaceful revolution impossible. I’m sure that if you thought you could get away with it, you would have launched your very own genocide.”
Ratters: “You’re goddamn right I would’ve! Let me tell you the wonderful thing about genocide. It ends revolutions before they can get violent. And it always works. It makes every problem go away. And Americans are far more complacent with it than they like to think. We genocided the Indians, took land, scalped them, raped their women, slaughtered their children, branded them as man-beasts. It fucking worked, and even after they were cordoned off from society, we kept the myth going with our movies. Some of the greatest moments in my life were when I got to kill an Injun and show the world the power of the White man! And sure, we allow the Indians to still live, but just barely.”
Ratters: “We stole the Indian’s children, doped up their parents, and left them stranded in the middle of nowhere, making it so they can only live through a life of crime and abuse. You know why we let them gamble away? Because it builds a narrative. Ask any American, and they will say that Indians are a bunch of drunks and gamblers, their simple minds lured by the call of the dice. Just like them n****rs.”
Ratters: “But that’s only the results of genocide. The fear of genocide is just as strong. Ask any American about the Ruskies, and they’ll say that they want to destroy us, nuke us to nothingness. And that fear… gives me absolute power.”
Vie replied to this rant with a hearty chuckle, giddy at how this conversation shifted.
Black Vice: “Oh, I know that fact all too well. It is all about telling a story and feeding it to the people. All about telling people the truth you want them to hear. And is there any better way to turn someone against a communist slash socialist regime than fear of complete genocide? No. There isn’t.”.
Ratters: “Like I need to fear it! Communism is flat out retarded! Society is all about power! All about putting the right people in the right places! This nation was built on White Christians putting themselves on top and keeping the Blacks in the fields. This is how the world works, and I’m not going to let anyone try to change it, to pry my power away and take it for himself. Because they will just flip the tables. Equality is a fallacy, and humanity is destined to be put inside boxes. And if they refuse to get inside these boxes… the best solution is to fucking kill them.”
Ratters: “Do you think you can do better, RNF? The Soviets are on their last fucking legs, and with them gone, it’s over. History is over. And you know who will be the man most responsible for this, for setting the stage for the rest of human history? Richard Rooadoot Ratters!”
As Ratters made this declaration, he clenched his little rat dick and launched the biggest load of cum he could muster at Vice where it reached their face. It was only a small amount, maybe three drops, yet Vice still looked down at this little freak with a powerful level of discontent, standing up to assert their disdain.
Black Vice: “History was all about people vying for power, trying to become the dominant order. Through war, through religion, and through the accumulation of wealth. But here’s the thing. If everybody is trying to reach the top, then nothing is going to get done. If you spend all your time and energy fighting your enemies and killing them, then nothing will be accomplished, and everything done will be all for waste.”
Black Vice: “Humans have fallen into the same mistakes for centuries, repeating the cycle ad nauseam. But me? I’m different. I am here to break this cycle of destruction and vying for power. Because I have all the power in the world. I have the power to grab this world by its balls and crush them to bits. I am immortal, I am infallible, I am infinite, I am BLACK VICE!“
Vice punctuated their statement by slamming their foot onto the table, breaking it in twain and sending Ratters tumbling down next to their neon purple sneakers.
Black Vice: “And I will bring an end to history as you know it. The era of turmoil, war, suffering, and capital will come to an end through my hand. And within a matter of decades, I shall shape the world into a vastly better place. I will shape it through the eyes and mind of one who has seen everything this world has to offer, who has the experience of tens of thousands of people, and seen the whole of human history.”
Black Vice: “I am not merely a new God who claims prosperity. I am not claiming to move mountains, to unite the world, and to cure all nations of every ill. I can move nations. I can remake the entire world within my image. Not through processes lasting decades and costing trillions, but through ones that last seconds and cost merely a fragment of my infinite imagination. I am not claiming to be a new God. I am claiming to be the FINAL God.”
This declaration was punctuated by Vice raising their foot and stomping Ratters, squishing his viscous body into the carpet below.
Black Vice: “The era of liberal governments, of false democracy, of capitalism… shall all come to an end. Not today, not tomorrow, not even in the next few years. A rapid change shall cause confusion and discontent in the eyes of the common people. It shall seem to them as if reality has collapsed. The guise of normality must be maintained, and the transition into utopia must appear as if it was natural. If this guise slips, then conspiracy, revolt, and discontent will be prevalent. And if people know that they are truly ruled by a God, then, well, even I don’t know what will actually happen.”
Black Vice: “But I do know this. Forty years. 2028. It is then that your history will come to an end, and humanity will reach a place it ought to have claimed decades ago. I do not promise salvation, or heaven. I promise a world where every person gets their essential needs addressed. None shall live without a home to call their own. None shall die of hunger or a lack of water. None shall die from diseases or ailments preventable through available care. I promise a world where people are free to do as they wish. Where their thoughts and voices shall be heard and addressed. Where power will not be hoarded, but distributed. A world without a hierarchy… except for me and my circle, of course.”
As this speech continued, Ratters began clawing for one of the wine-drenched jelly beans that dropped behind him. But with his arms so stubby and rat-like, he was unable to reach it.
Black Vice: “I could go back to the dawn of man and craft a world where humans never learn of the horrors of war, where compassion and collaboration triumph over all. I could erase all of history if I so chose… but I don’t want to. I don’t wish to destroy all that I have grown to know. Anytime in the past few years would do, but someone decided to send the world to shit now, so my hand has been forced, and the world born from this conflict will be one forged as I see fit!”
Black Vice: “But before I can achieve such a thing, I must kill you, and the fucker who was turned into a weapon by people just like you. So, consider this the end, Ratters. …Oh, but how shall I bring an end to you? To murder is too direct, to torture is too crass— though Zach may beg to differ. …Considering what you have been reduced to, I think there is no more fitting way to end the life of someone like you… than to fuck you to death!”
Ratters: “…Wuh? How the fuck are you gonna—”
Black Vice: “WITH. MY. COCK!”
Vice dropped their white skirt from their waist and revealed it. Their footlong penis, molded and refined to perfection after thousands of sexual escapades into a form that walked the tight margins between intimidating, enticing, and aesthetically appealing. Truly, the greatest dick in all the lands.
With Ratters stunned by this display, Vice grabbed them, squeezing them tightly in a single hand as they raised them up to eye level. Ratters stared at Vice with content through his soulless white eyes, desperate to get a last word in before Vice did… whatever they had planned. The thumb pinning his narrow throat left him unable to speak, so he did what he could and tried clawing at Vice’s hand… only for his claws to shatter upon contact. Vice tightened their grip in response, and Ratters let out a desperate gasp as their body began to transform.
His body was already narrow and tube-like, but as he desperately flailed, he felt every one of his limbs sink inward. Shoulders cracked as bones collapsed into ooze, sucking up arms through their sockets and slurping in the claws. The legs were subjected to the same fate, compressing inward in spite of Ratters’s flailing. He gnashed his teeth, moving his head to grasp the thumb so teasingly close to them, yet his head stiffened with each bite, before becoming rigid.
Unable to move himself, or even close their mouth, Ratters stared up at Vice with utter disdain, while Vice merely looked down with a shit-eating grin. No words were exchanged, for none needed to be. Ratters merely seethed as the transformation reached its final stages. His teeth receded into his body, decomposing and becoming merely another part of his flesh. His ears sealed themselves, nostrils melted into one another, and eyelids consumed their eyes, locking them into the form of a creature unable to move, see, hear, or smell. But they could feel the firm grip of Vice and feel what was to come.
Ratters could still think, and thought that his mouth would be raped… only for that too to be sealed shut. His esophagus closed in on itself as his jaw was closed for the final time before disappearing. Ratters then felt his asshole shifting open, growing higher on his body, consuming his little rat cock as it grew bigger, and bigger. All until his asshole was as deep as his entire body, going up to where his mouth once resided. Though he could not see himself… he knew what he was now. No longer a rat, but a flesh-like fuck tube… with a rat tail danging at the bottom.
Black Vice: “I’d ask how it feels, but I already know. Stuff like this isn’t even in my top 50 weirdest sexual experiences. For you though? I’m sure this will break you and every nasty little thought in your mind. So do your best to relax, allow your brain to melt, and embrace the pleasure of being fucked by Black Vice.”
Ratters had no recourse or means of resisting Vice. He screamed, yet he had no mouth. He flailed, yet he could not move. He was truly helpless to do anything but accept Vice as they thrust their meticulously forged dick inside him, and the moment it slid inside him… he felt his mind crash. A sensation more intense than any he’d ever felt before reverberated throughout his body, rendering complex thought impossible. Every part of his body’s inner sheathe had been turned into an erogenous zone, and as Vice filled them with their cock, all were being titillated at once.
Before Ratters could adapt to this intensity, Vice had begun to take him for a ride, clenching his body with one hand while thrusting their dick to and fro. Ratters tried to maintain composure, tried to hold on to rational thought, but every time Vice slammed the head of their dick into the back of Ratters’s orifice. It was like taking another hit of one of his criminalized drugs, but again, and again, and again. Rage gave way to confused acceptance. Confused acceptance gave way to begrudging euphoria. And this begrudging euphoria gave way to… regular euphoria.
The resistance that once lurked within Ratters cracked with every impact, and after only a mere minute of this, his mind had become immersed in a dense fog of ecstasy. A fog so thick he could not even remember his name, let alone his stature or humanity. All he could feel was the thrill of sex, the bliss of being an empty-headed sex toy, and as this fantasy became all they could see, Vice unleashed their load. An eruption of cum burst upwards to the back of Ratters’s hole, burning it with its heat, gushing onto the sides, and pouring down to the floor as he could not hope to contain it all.
This hot sticky delight filled Ratters with a pleasure beyond any he had felt since this transformation, and as they wafted in this afterglow… it all came back to him. Elation was replaced with revulsion, with rage over this profound indignity he had been subjected to. He wanted to scream, he wanted to strike down the one who did this to him. He wanted to fight back… but he had long-since lost, and it was time for the final impact.
The cum within Ratters, splaying the inner walls of his body, then began to move, squirming and stimulating him. He thought for a moment that this was the prelude for a second round… only to feel a sharp pain encroaching throughout his body. Ecstasy was replaced by agony, and no matter how much he sweltered with rage, with a desire to free himself from this situation, there was no escape. All he could do was stay there, within Vice’s grip, on top of their cock, as he felt his form burn away with every passing second.
To be melted alive after experiencing the greatest pleasure of one’s life was a twisted form of torment… but that was not quite what Vice was planning. Beyond Ratter’s perception, their body was not truly melting, but rather being consumed, absorbed, and devoured by Vice. By their cock. Ratters’s cells were being transformed, siphoned away into Vice’s person, and painfully converted into a form more befitting their new owner.
The consumption left Ratters feeling drained, the pain worsening every second. They wanted to fight, but with less mass, less body, their resistance faltered, their capacity narrowed, and they did not end this assimilation with a valiant roar of rage. Instead, it ended with silence. Ratters’s resistance diminished to nothingness as the pain became too overbearing to fight. He felt the embrace of nothingness… and he accepted it.
Vice looked down at their dick, looking just as it had been when they first whipped it out, but rendered in a flaccid, satisfied, state.
Black Vice: “That’s one more I can cross off the list! I’ve finally dick vored a president. There’s something so spectacular to seeing someone perish, robbed of their humanity and… and… oh fuck!”
As a pain shot through their body, Vice fell onto the ground and stared intently at the source of their pain. Their dick. Just a moment ago, it looked as it should, but now… it was almost completely White. Bereft of melanin. Caucasian-colored. It stood up tall, at full mast, pulsating as blood pumped through its newly exposed veins, and with every beat of Vice’s heart, this Whiteness spread. It crept down their body, infecting their abdomen, coursing down their legs, and… reshaping them. The carefully curated curves Vice had granted themselves became hardened and flattened. A bouncy butt became one small and tight with muscles, and as they stared at their dick, they saw traces of blonde pubic hair.
It was remarkably different from their standard form… but also not wholly unfamiliar. For Vice had assumed this form, twice, within the past hour.
Black Vice: “Ratters! You motherfucker! You’re trying to turn me back into Dan, aren’t you? Well, I— GRAH!”
The already brisk pace of the transformation grew intense. Vice felt their heart race pass 120 beats per minute, felt their legs shift against their will. Their slim waistline became wider and more dense, and their breasts receded into a pair of muscle-rich pecs. The accursed Whiteness was up to their neck, already spreading into their forearms, and it seemed as if there would only be a few seconds before Vice was fully transformed. They grunted and shouted, fighting against the encroaching transformation… but it was not enough. The Whiteness carried itself up to Vice’s face, transforming their brown eyes a crystal blue, and turning their hair blonde at the roots before cutting the rest off after a few inches. Their facial structure had completely changed, and their hands grew strong and thick.
Vice’s form had reverted back to Dan Vespa yet again, and as these changes finished… a smile loomed on their face.
Black Vice(?): “What a retarded n***er! Inviting me into her body like that!”
From their vernacular alone, it was clear this was no longer Vice. It was the man they just absorbed, Ratters, now in the body of a divinely powerful young White man. He flexed his newfound strength by casting off the elaborate clothing he found himself wearing. The head feather, the yellow top, the blue sash, and the tattered shoes.
Ratters looked at this stolen body with glee, fondling his newfound arms and pecs before gripping his dick with gusto, letting out a hoarse grunt as he squeezed it.
Ratters: “Weiss Vice shall be pleased with these results. The more powerful his peons are, the better. For this and for bringing him into this world… He’ll reward me with whatever I want! Oh Black Vice, you stupid, stupid little faggot. So enamored with your perversions that you gave away your everything! Now, I just need to read your mind and… wait, what are—”
Ratters’s body then fell to the ground, no longer responding to his mind. His lips moved, but they were not the voice of his current body, the voice of Dan. They were the voice of Black Vice.
Black Vice: “Enjoy that feeling of victory? I just wanted to see if you could recover from that downfall. One moment you were blissfully tasting my cum, the next you were suffering a painful death, and now you’re acting like a cartoon villain.”
Ratters then found himself in control of this body’s lips, if only for a moment. Using it, he spoke with the voice of Dan Vespa once more.
Ratters: “You… you manipulative little n***er! You tricked me into… you let me take control of your body—”
Black Vice: “Just so I could take it away from you and watch your second wind fade away. I’d say I’m sorry… but then I’d be lying. It’s been good in the worst possible way, Ratters. But now, it’s time I put an end to you, once and for all. It’ll be as easy as 3… 2… 1!”
As Vice counted down, their entire body convulsed and transformed, shifting back from Dan Vespa into their usual Black and feminine form. The transformation executed by Ratters was undone, and all the anti-melanin— all the whiteness— was channeled into their dick. As this whiteness reached the head, it ejected outwards in the form of a fat loogie of cum. A gross little specimen that flew high… before crashing down into a couch.
With Ratters expelled from their body and reduced to a dollop of couch cum, Vice let out a wide grin and flipped back onto their feet, still completely naked. They took a moment to bask in this sight. The Oval Office, decked out with cum, the president dead behind them, and his spirit and mind reduced to a couple million sperm cells that should die in a few minutes. They had certainly made a fine mess of this place… but the deed was done, and as they looked out the shattered window, they saw that the white veil covering the sky was vanishing.
Black Vice: “Huh. Zach must be done with his mission.”
Right on cue, one of the doors to the Oval Office was kicked open, revealing Zach. He did not even flinch as he saw Vice naked. This was normal for them.
Black Vice: “Talk about timing. You ready to blow this dump and head down to Japan?”
Zach: “Yeah… but you should probably put some clothes on first. I doubt Tomoko would want to see you with your dick hanging out.”
Black Vice: “Heh. Fair enough. It’s best to not scare the pregnant woman.”
Snapping their fingers, Vice donned their next outfit, a tight little low cut black dress paired with a rainbow-colored windbreaker.
Black Vice: “Just want to get a little color thrown in while emphasizing the black side of me.”
Zach: “Whatever you say, bro. …You do realize that if this doesn’t work—”
Black Vice: “We’re fucked. I know it. I get it. But I’ve done the math in my head… and I’d say we have a 88% chance of victory.”
Zach: “…Of course it’s 88…”
The two then held hands and, with a nod, they vanished from the Oval Office as one, leaving the city of Washington behind as they headed to reconvene with the rest of The Black Shitenno. The endgame had begun, and they just hoped everything would work as they planned.
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