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 16: The New Future
Part 1: The Divine Confrontation
Date: ???
Time: ???
Location: The Domain of Dusk
Black Vice’s eyes fluttered open to reveal a small lavender room with a dim, moody light shining from an unknown source, a faint haze wafting around their face. They sat in a cushy white armchair, comfortable enough to sleep in, and before them was a black wooden door bereft of a handle or doorknob.
They looked around, confused, and before they could even think to stand up, she appeared. A woman who Vice had not seen in a long time, yet had made an unforgettable impression. A woman with tan skin and long dark hair, dressed in a green shirt and jeans. The God of all universes, Verde Dusk.
Verde: “Tsk, tsk. I thought we had an agreement, Vice. ‘If you ever attempt to invade, steal, or claim an additional universe for yourself, I will interpret that as an act of war, and your punishment will be both swift and painful’. And guess who just forced someone to take them to another universe and then destroyed it?”
Vice was not the kind to get scared… but as Verde glared at them, tapping on her pants, they were struck with a true fear of death for the first time in centuries.
Black Vice: “Verde… y-you know why I did that though, right? Y-you know that this world was irredeemable. I was trying to make things better, to destroy it and prevent it from—”
Verde: “Bahahahaha! I’m just fucking with you, dude! Per our terms, I could veeeery harshly punish you… but I won’t. You did exactly what you should have done and proved yourself to not be the worst. Hell, you even showed empathy for a killer of billions, which… I’m not sure about that, but it proves that you’re not the pederast I met a couple months back.”
Black Vice: “…The hell do you mean months? It’s been hundreds of years since we first met.”
Verde: “Yeah… the flow of time between universes is weird like that. Always moving forward, but at different speeds. …Now, you seem like you could use some help. What with your own universe getting destroyed and your bodies being sent into the Omni after that affair.”
Black Vice: “What’s the Omni?”
Verde: “Don’t worry about it. The point is that you need to do a rollback, and I’m happy to help with that. But I take it that you don’t want to leave things as they are. You want to undo the Whiterat incident, sweep it under the rug, and make the world… better, right? Or was that speech with Ratters just your idea of a goof?”
Black Vice: “Hmm… I was very much against permanently changing history. My friends and I tried, but we never made things permanent, always reverting back to how normal once we had our fun. Yet, after seeing just how much evil lurks in this world, how exploitable it is… I think I do need to do something. I’m not aiming to make a utopia, just a—”
Verde: “Materially better world that keeps the texture and friction of humanity, but does away with some of the more systemic issues, or at least makes them less harmful to daily life?”
Black Vice: “…Pretty much. The issues with society stem from those at the top, those directing it, and they should be replaced with more… agreeable sorts of people. And I have my own slew of ideas about how to get rid of them, about who to replace them with.”
Verde: “Ha! I should have expected as much. I’m having an associate of mine run the rollback in the background, restoring your Earth to its former splendor. Once I’m done, I’ll leave things to you.”
Black Vice: “You’re not going to impose any—”
Verde: “Nah, I’m an ass, but not that big of an ass. Weiss Vice was ultimately the creation of a machine who gave birth to millions of worlds. I may not be familiar with them all, but I am responsible for anomalies like him. Hell, I should thank you for taking care of him. So, thanks! If you ever need help with whatever, you know my number.”
Black Vice: “…Well, this is a lot cleaner than I thought. So, I’m free to go back and rearrange things as I please?”
Verde: “Eyup! I set things back to Sunday, August 14, 1988, at 7:00 UTC. Just a bit before all this mess happened, and I made sure to prevent the inciting incident for good measure.”
Rather than explain what that meant, Verde merely waved her hands and caused a series of floating screens to appear before Vice, each showing the fate of a relevant person they found along their journey.
Tomoko and Yasuke were returned to their apartment in Nagoya, and with the afternoon sun slowly rolling in, they were dozing off on their couch, arms wrapped around each other. Tomoko was pregnant with Kaede yet again, who would need to wait a few more months before she could make her official introduction to the world.
Milky was back to being a child and was still lunging around in her bed, chasing a dream and not likely to remember her adventure as anything more than that. A bizarre and vivid dream.
The six other people Milky absorbed to assume her adult form were similarly all returned to their beds, dreaming away as these tumultuous events drifted to the recesses of their memories.
Ratters and his merry band of elite White men were no longer at The Nujiboe Society, but were instead where they ought to be. In their beds, resting away. It was far from a calming sight, yet it was better than the alternative.
The last screen showed the Black teenage girl who was sacrificed at The Nujiboe Society at the start of this sorted affair. The girl whose death served as a catalyst for Weiss Vice’s arrival into this world. However, she was no longer in the pitiful state she once was. Her limbs had been restored, injuries were fully healed, her burnt hair was replaced with long and gorgeous locks, and her body was clothed in a warm, modest outfit. Though, bizarrely, she was no longer pregnant.
It was not clear where this girl was— she was merely along the side of a road that brushed along a forest. However, there was just enough light to see that she was beaming with joy. She was gleeful to have arms and legs again, to no longer be a toy for the worst people imaginable, and to have her whole life ahead of her. So, even with no idea where she was, she bore a smile and ran out into the darkness, eager to see where her life would lead her.
Black Vice: “…Hold on, what did you do with that girl’s child? Did you just… abort them?”
Verde: “No, no, the child is still alive, I just… freed her of that burden. She never wanted it and I felt it appropriate to use that child’s body for… something else.”
Black Vice paused as they heard those words… before nodding their head.
Verde: “You know what to do at this point, so I’ll let you take it from here. See ya!”
Following that farewell, Verde vanished from this domain and the black door in the room developed a doorknob. Vice carefully got up from their chair and opened this door, walking through a dense fog that took them from this domain to another world, another universe. As the fog lifted, they found themself on the Earth’s moon, fully restored after their battle with Weiss. Looking forward, they saw that the Earth was similarly restored, looking precisely as it should.
This was a reassuring sight to behold, but as Vice looked about, they found Jessie, Zach, and Quintin all standing a few feet away, looking most confused.
Zach: “There you are Vice! I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Black Vice: “Verde wanted to chat with me about some things. Short version is that everything’s fine. We went back in time before all of this began, so we don’t need to remake the Earth or any crap like that.”
Quintin: “Cool. So what’s next? After something like this, it’d be weird as fuck to just go back to being a bunch of time tourists.”
Black Vice: “My thoughts exactly. This was a wake-up call to how prevalent hatred is throughout this world, how it can be manifested into a weapon of unambiguous evil. In light of this… I think we need to take more of an active role in the world.”
Jessie: “Oh grief. What harebrained scheme are you planning now?”
Black Vice: “What and spoil the surprise? Trust me, you’ll know in due time.”
Part 2: The Re;Birth of Weiss
Date: Sunday, August 14, 1988
Time: 13:14 UTC – 06:14 LT
Location: The Nujiboe Society, California, United States
The morning sun slowly eked past the horizon and shone through the dense forestry surrounding the place where this all began. The Nujiboe Society for Caucasoid Prosperity. Its domain was quiet, empty, with only the sounds of stray animals emerging from the dark of the night and not a human to be seen, not even a parked car… with the exception of one.
Deep within the facilities, past a faintly laid trail, there was a giant stone statue of an owl overlooking a small man-made pond, and a strange metal fixture resting on a marble altar. It was the sacrificial site for the society, where Grandmaster Ratters sacrificed a tortured young woman. Where the rawest vitriol of this world lured in Weiss Vice.
However, the woman’s corpse was not present here. Instead, the metal fixture atop the altar was home to someone far… smaller. A newborn child, wrapped in a tie dye blanket. They slept soundly until the rising sun reached their face. A face that was rather… unusual.
Rather than having a consistent skin color across their face, their face had two different complexions. One incredibly fair, as pale as could be, and the other a dark brown. These colors were disproportionate across the face, uneven in their application, and made it difficult to say which shade was the primary and which was the secondary. Their hair further spoke to their racial ambiguity, featuring curly, perhaps even coiled, platinum blonde tufts, but it was also not uncommon for children to be born with different hair colors.
The brightness and heat of the sunlight striking this newborn’s distinctive face was enough for them to flutter their eyes open, revealing that they also had heterochromia. One eye blue, the other gray. They fluttered their vision open, still too underdeveloped to see a foot beyond their face, and as they woke up… they cried.
Baby: “Waaaaaah!”
Unable to do anything on their own, they sobbed as loudly as they could, wiggling back and forth, unable to know what they wanted, yet knowing they needed something from someone. Fortunately… they were given just that.
???: “Aw, you poor little thing, all alone in a scary place like this. Here, let Momma take care of you!”
As this sing-song voice floated in from the distance, the baby continued to cry even as they felt the embrace of an adult’s hand grasp their back and head. This adult brought the baby closer and as they looked up, they saw… Black Vice. Their face as cute as a button and their dark brown, almost black, eyes shimmering as they looked down. With Vice’s large dark ponytail, cream-colored sundress, and short yet busty stature, they looked like a new mother caressing their child, and held them as such. Gentle rockings made the child at ease, and as they stopped crying, they let out a slight giggle.
Black Vice: “You sure turned out cute, you know that? …But how did you turn out? Are you a boy, or are you a girl? You won’t need to stay like that, of course. It’s just your starting—”
As Vice spoke, they wrapped the baby out of their blanket to look at their genitalia… and what they saw was neither a penis nor a vagina. Instead, it was more… ambiguous.
Black Vice: “Heh. Should have seen that coming. Neither black nor white. Neither male nor female. You are just breaking all the rules, aren’t you, ya little scamp? But don’t worry. I believe in human rights, and I’ll let you be whatever and whoever you want to be. …Well, unless you decide to become that nasty Weiss again. But I’ll raise you right, show you the truth, and you’ll be just fine.”
The baby looked up at Vice with an expression that could be read as either a profound understanding… or just a newborn being a newborn.
Black Vice: “Now, what to name you. Something nice and gender neutral, of course. I feel like I should keep the W, so how about… Whitney? More of a female coded name, but a good one. It means white island, which could be seen as racially coded. But an island has the vibrant colors of fauna and animals who call the place home. It’s surrounded by the majestic blue of the sea, vivid colors of a rising and setting sun. Plus, it was the name of an underrated Civil Rights leader who ‘drowned’ under Licksen’s watch. You can make it work for you on several levels.”
After being fed that paragraph, the child began drifting their eyes into space, looking at the bright light coming in through the trees.
Black Vice: “So, what do you think of that name? Are you a Whitney?”
Vice brought the child closer to their face and, with barely any ability to control their limbs, they tapped their hand on Vice’s nose.
Black Vice: “I’ll take that as an ‘it’ll do for now.’ Let’s get you inside. This is no place for any sane human, especially those with more than a dash of melanin.”
With that cheeky reference to an erased past, Vice carried Whitney through the forest, elegantly passing by the bushes and as they made their way to one of the many buildings that lined this land.
The mechanisms of its wooden door unlocked as Vice placed their hand on it, granting them entry to a floor filled with clutter. Equipment, chairs, folded up tables, and boxes aplenty, yet not another soul to be seen. If under the right light, it might seem sinister, but with the lights flicked on and the sunlight shining through the windows, it just looked like a regular storage room. It was almost underwhelming, seeing a building so plain next to the site of a ritualistic sacrifice, yet sometimes the most vile places are shielded in mundanity.
Vice walked through the rooms before finding what they were looking for. A crib next to a rocking chair. Its placement amid all the clutter did not make it feel out of place, if only for the fact that nothing was in place. They sat in the chair and began gently rocking Whitney back and forth. The child, having been placed in a new environment, darted their eyes everywhere, looking at these many sights with no compression of what these things were… before they began to squirm.
Black Vice: “I see, you’re hungry aren’t you? Well, it’s been a while since I’ve done it with these, but I’m sure it will work just the same.”
With Whitney in their lap, Vice pulled down their dress and slid their arms off their bra, exposing their breasts. The newborn looked up as this happened, fascinated by the motion more than anything, and soon found themself presented before Vice’s nipple. From gentle nudging, they suckled the teat before them, haphazardly throwing their mouth and lips at it while being rewarded with a palpably sweet flavor. They suckled as best they could, struggling to use their new unrefined muscles, yet managed to consume enough milk to leave them satisfied. Satisfied and exhausted, shuttering their eyes once full. Vice then gently placed them in the crib, wrapped up all nice and tight in their tie dye blanket yet again.
Black Vice: “Now that they’re asleep, it should be about time for my shows to begin.”
With an exaggerated saunter, Vice moseyed through the cluttered halls of this Nujiboe Society building, walking up the stairs, past further storage, before making way to an innocuous door hidden in a corner. The kind that one would expect to be a janitor’s closet or some such thing. But when they opened it, they saw something else. What appeared to be some sort of security control station. With a massive desk containing a dozen televisions of varying models and sizes, each showing a warped version of Vice’s person in their reflection.
Looking further, Vice saw a control panel that presumably turned on each of the TVs, a well-worn desk chair, a mini-fridge and microwave in the corner, and a box fan on the floor. Because running this many TVs in a damn closet would make anyone sweat like a pig.
Smirking at this sight, Vice planted their firm tush into the chair and swung open the fridge , yanking out a can of some bubblegum flavored soda. They shrugged, popped the tap, and took a sip, letting out a refreshed ‘ah’ before planting their feet on the desk. They flicked the first switch on the control panel, and what they saw… was fucked up.
It was the sight of the Oval Office, of President Ratters, standing by his desk… ruthlessly raping a young Black boy, no older than eight. The boy cried and shouted, his voice hoarse and wrought with pain and fear alike, but just as this sight lingered, the camera shifted to the floor, to the couches, to the entirety of the office. From every angle, it was the same thing. A child in distress, getting fucked by a high-ranking member of the White House.
Vice President Gary Buttz was ramming his cock down the throat of a Hispanic girl. Secretary of Defense Felix Kahloozi was choking a Vietnamese girl while propping her onto his dick. Secretary of the State Garth Q. Schmuck put a pair of pliers around the nipples of an Indian boy, trying to tear them off his chest, while pounding his anus. Even Supreme Court justice, Arthur Scarmiglione, was joining in this utterly vile display as he masturbated to this sight, blowing his load on the face of the Hispanic girl being raped by the Vice President.
It was a sight so deplorable, so disgusting, so woefully absurd in the worst possible way that it was almost unbelievable that such a thing would, let alone could, be televised. Yet there it was, looking as real as could be, with the CBS logo sitting in the corner. This was being broadcasted to every television in America and, probably, a lot outside of the country too. It was a truly vile sight that millions would undoubtedly be seeing, and the absolute worst thing any of them could be caught watching.
Part 3: The Master Plan
Date: Sunday, August 14, 1988
Time: 13:41 UTC – 06:41 LT
Location: The Nujiboe Society, California, United States
Jessie: “VICE! What the FUCK are you doing?”
As Vice was in the midst of watching President Ratters and his crew mercilessly rape a group of children, Jessie Shines barged into the control room, her rage without restraint.
Black Vice: “Watching the televised revolution play out.”
Jessie: “Horseshit! I thought that after a millennium you would have grown past this, but I guess you—”
Black Vice: “I am doing this to change the world for the better. Please, have some faith in me.”
Jessie: “You’re asking me to have faith in you after you’re the one who did all of this?”
Frustrated, Jessie stormed into the room and flicked on the other switches for the televisions, causing the displays to come to life one after the other, with each depicting their own manner of atrocities
The second monitor showed a medium-sized Oregon church, where a legion of people in white hoods— klansmen— were rounding up Asian children as if they were cattle, funneling them down the center aisle. The church was a beautiful structure, complete with giant and vibrant stained glass windows depicting Christ, his disciples, and the archangels, all bright as the morning sun shined through them. In this light, in this holiest of spots, these Asian children were brought to the altar where the master of the group, clad in more elegant robes, raised a knife high above a child. The child screamed for mercy, for help. Instead, they were given a knife coursing through their heart. They spasmed, screeched, and after seconds of resistance, perished on the table, their body devoid of life. Their corpse was then systematically removed from this altar by another klansman while the next child was placed down on this bloodied altar, set to suffer the same fate.
The third monitor showed the streets of a town in the Deep South, where, similarly, Black children were being gathered up by the dozens by White men without hoods. They cried and fought, and those who resisted were shot at, but not in the head or chest, merely the arms and legs before being thrown into a truck like bushels of hay. Trucks that all led to a makeshift structure in the center of what appeared to be a major intersection. Wooden gallows constructed to kill four at once, where four young black girls were gathered, their legs propped up on stools, nooses tied tight around their necks. They screamed and begged, but that did not stop the executioner from pulling the lever, causing the floor under them to give away.
The fourth monitor showed the heart of Chicago, downtown, the intersection of culture and industry, and the intersection of Black and White. Despite being a Sunday, the White executives had come to town, dressed in their suits and ties, and armed with assault weapons. They gathered in packs, storming the streets, setting their sights on every speck of melanin that crossed their eyes, and firing away. Traffic screeched to a halt and thousands were fleeing in terror. Then, when the police came in to help the common citizens, they instead took their cars to the nearest Black or Brown person and drove into them before joining the horde.
The fifth monitor was in the heart of London, where Prime Minister Mildred Hatcher was giving a speech to her people, her words audible even through all the other noise and droning of panicked newscasters.
Mildred Hatcher: “—We must maintain an England for the Englishmen, to take this country and make it great again! And so I am granting you all an opportunity. To make things right and clean our community. And you won’t get this chance again. Go out and kill yourself a Black, a Paki, or a Chink. Do not fret and do not think. For your actions shall be forgiven, for you are upholding our tradition. Let’s save the Whites from the brink!”
The crowds cheered as the Iron lady promised state sponsored genocide and criminal immunity for all participation. It was an absurd concept, even more when spoken in limerick, yet it was not even the most egregious display.
The sixth monitor was directly from the Vatican, where Pope Pius XIII was looking over a young Black boy, his body pinned down to an altar and his body covered in markings. Markings that had been sliced with a scalpel, exposing the innards of his chest before millions of viewers. The boy was gagged, unable to speak, but he screamed like hell as the Pope brought this surgical scalpel to the young man’s penis. Despite this verbal resistance, the Pope did not hesitate as he approached his penis with a thicker knife, a cleaver, and silently severed the child’s sex from his body. His pain-riddled grunts overpowered even Hatcher’s speech, but he was silenced as the Pope brought the cleaver into his throat.
The pope then turned to look at the camera, where he spoke in Latin, his voice hoarse, as if his lungs were at the brink of decay.
Pope Pius XIII: “[And this it the penis of the n***er! Of the monkey that talks like a man. It is a vile thing even in this early stage and if it grows, it shall become the enemy of all White women— true women— in this world. These creatures must have their sex eradicated. This must be the last generation of n***ers to be born, if we wish to create a world that God will accept. So venture forth and enact the will of God, or else you shall never see the light of Heaven! Save this world from the scourge of the n***er!]”
As they finished this command, the Pope then took the child’s bloodied, severed penis… and dropped it into their mouth, cackling after it struck his stomach.
That was merely half of the sights displayed before Vice and Jessie, but the rest were much the same. Vice took these sights in stride, still calmly sipping their bubblegum soda, while Jessie had a reasonable reaction.
Jessie: “Was this all a long con for you? Is this the world you actually wanted? Is this some relapse to when you were raping and killing children in the woods? Are you trying to get past Verde’s command to not be a pedophile? Did going into Weiss’s mind fuck you up more than you let on? Is this just your way of—”
Black Vice: “Just because you are my god-given conscience doesn’t mean you can bombard me with questions before I explain my case. Jessie, I know this is fucked up, and I should have cleared it with you, but this entire situation was a mess. So, with your blessing, may I fucking speak?”
Jessie: “…You better make this good, or else I’m going to call Verde and she will kill you.”
Black Vice: “Thank you for your generosity and understanding. Now, the purpose behind my actions is to shift society in a better direction. Weiss Vice exposed the evils in the hearts of the world’s leaders, at the core of civilization. Mostly with White people, but White people have ruled the world for centuries at this point. I knew all this, but seeing it play out… told me that the world needed to change. That the leaders of the most powerful societies in the world are tainted, corrupted, and filled with evil that’s almost beautiful in its purity.”
Black Vice: “So, I executed the shift you see before you. I took the unrestrained id— the impulses and latent desires— of 140,088 of the most vile and evil people in this world, and gave it full control. While their ego and fears were inserted into artificial bodies. The children you see getting mercilessly murdered and raped. These children are not real people. They are merely constructs that the world thinks are real people. I would never dare subject actual humans— let alone children— let alone Colored children— to such a fate. The only things that are dying in this display are the masks of the worst people on Earth.”
Jessie: “Considering what you did back when you were a teenager, I—”
Black Vice: “Oh, please. That was lifetimes ago. How many memories of rape victims, of lynched children, must I absorb before you feel as if I have grown, learned, and reformed my ways?”
Jessie: “…You’re doing this to shift society, but how does this improve anything? How is broadcasting hate crimes and the image of children being raped on television a good thing?”
Black Vice: “It is not. It is the worst thing people could witness. The sight of such displays shall offend, shock— perhaps even radicalize— the people of the world to their core. This hyperbole is necessary for the shift to function. For society to disavow their leaders, to rush them out of their platforms, and for a power vacuum to form. When the leaders are disposed of, new positions are opened, and whoever takes those positions shall hold the power to shape the world.”
Jessie: “And who are these new leaders? How do you know they are going to be any better? A revolution that replaces a fascist with another fascist is not a revolution at all. It is merely a cycle of destruction that only harms nations, their people— everything.”
Black Vice: “Correct. However, we are not revolutionaries, mon chère. We are gods with the ability to shape society as we see fit. We can control the narrative and appoint who we want to these positions of power under the guise of democracy and justice. Or we could alter their perspectives to better align with what we want to see from the world.”
Jessie: “…So in order to create a state where we could ‘naturally’ change the world, you executed one of the greatest, most widespread tragedies and televised it to millions, if not billions? Because it’s better than just changing people to be less awful?”
Black Vice: “Jessie, we tried doing that before. Need I bring up your experiment in ‘ending racism’ in a single day and how that utterly destroyed some people’s brains? How it led to the mass suicide of millions?”
Jessie scowled as that unpleasant memory was thrust before her.
Jessie: “And how do you know this plan of yours is going to work? That it won’t just normalize racial violence, rape, and pedophilia?”
Black Vice: “If spun a particular way, such a display could radicalize the people of the world and embolden them to enact on their worst impulses. …But look at these monsters. Most people have a decent moral center. They believe that killing children, no matter their race, is wrong. That it is wrong to assault a child in such a vulgar and open manner. While most choose to believe in their leaders, there is a point when they cannot accept their words. And if this doesn’t breed rampant distrust and disassociation, if this doesn’t get people to disavow and curse them as the wretched people they are, then nothing shall. It is extreme… because anything less would be too subtle. Too easy to brush aside.”
Black Vice: “If Ratters were to state he wanted to round up every Black person and turn them into hamburger meat, that would just be words. It could be read as a mere racist joke. If just a chapter of the KKK were to stage an execution of Black children, it would be a fluke. A batch of bad apples. A cultish offshoot. But the volume and veracity of these events, having them happen all at once, and the narrative of this being a moment where these people discarded their masks in unison… it becomes a cultural event. Something that shall forever change the course of history.”
Jessie: “…And what about the thought leaders who would try to—”
Black Vice: “Dead, or caught engaging in pedophilia and murder on film. The hooded freaks in the church are not garden variety southern racists, but men— and a few women— with positions of influence and affluence. The man up front is actually a famous thought leader amongst the working class. A silver-tongued libertarian talk show host who positions his conservatism as common sense and pushes his audience against the other, i.e., the n***ers, Mexicans, or Muslims.”
Black Vice: “The men in suits shooting up Chicago? Millionaires and executives of global corporations. Ones whose sins would inspire fear and unrest in the minds of their families and companies, spurring them to change swiftly and completely. To divest from anything that makes them seem racist. After all, if it turns out that your father or CEO were involved in a televised lynching and cheering about how ‘the only good n***er is a dead n***er,’ what would one sooner do? Change themself in light of these accusations? Or double-down on it and say ‘yeah, and I hate them n***ers even more.’“
Jessie: “…You have a point. Most people will disavow these actions, even if they are related to these murderers and rapists. But you are delusional if you think that applies to everyone.”
Black Vice: “Oh, I don’t. In fact, that is part of the beauty of a gesture like this. It pushes the rightest of the right-wing beyond the realm of acceptable thought. It paints them as deranged. Literal Nazis.”
Jessie: “…Okay. I think I get what you’re doing. You don’t want to just create an event where countless positions of power open up across the Western world. You want to perform an extreme shift in people’s political leanings. Turn American Republicans into true moderates and leave the most extreme conservatives without a voice. …Heh. As always, I don’t agree with your methods… but I agree with the goal. So, what’s the next step?”
Black Vice: “Do you know what makes 1988 such an important year?”
Jessie: “…The presidential election coming in three months?”
Black Vice: “Exactly. And if we want to change the world, the leaders of America will need to be aligned with our goals. I don’t think Gary Buttz has much of a chance after this. The Republicans are going to lose by a landslide, and in a binary political system like this, the Democrats won’t need to do anything to get the people’s vote.”
Jessie: “Okay, but are we really going to want to put faith in Mitch Duoloklops? He’s not the worst, but he’s not the right fit for this job.”
Black Vice: “The Massachusetts governor? I think you are mistaken. While he was planning on running for president, he was not the Democratic Party’s nominee. Instead, it was the 42-year-old Virginian senator, Devin Verres. With his running mate being 36-year-old Missouri congresswoman, Jennifer Gleam.”
Jessie: “…Who? I try to stay up to privy with these things, but I don’t—”
Black Vice: “You and me!”
Vice triumphantly rose from their chair and stood before Jessie, looking as triumphant and assertive as they could in their cute form.
Black Vice: “Together, we shall rule America as President Vice and their Vice President! We shall shape this country in our image. We shall make it into a nation that can boldly stand before the world and—”
Jessie: “Fuck off! I never agreed to be vice president! You cannot just force me to—”
Black Vice: “Do you seriously want me running the country without you at my side? If you’d rather, I could make you my wife or perhaps my Secretary of—”
Jessie then punched Vice in the mouth, causing them to collapse to the floor.
Jessie: “This is not something you can just force upon me, Vice!”
Black Vice: “What, you think I want to play a character for 8 damn years either? Because I don’t! But what’s more important? Your temporary happiness in an immortal life, or doing the right thing at the right time to make all the difference in the world?”
Jessie: “…I fucking hate it when you’re right.”
Black Vice: “And I love it!”
Jessie: “Ugh. When do we start this charade?”
Black Vice: “Our team plans on having us address the current events in about two hours.”
Jessie: “That soon? …Are we going to possess these people or—”
Black Vice: “No. We’re going to become them. Zach! Quintin! Do you have the suits ready?”
Quintin: “Finally! You two always take so fuckin’ long to discuss the most basic shit.”
Quintin and Zach then appeared just outside of this security room, each holding a box that, based on the branding and dimensions, contained a full outfit for each of them to wear.
Jessie: “…Don’t tell me. Vice briefed the two of you and just ‘forgot’ to give me the memo again, didn’t they?”
Zach: “Correct.”
Reaching into his suit pocket, Zach produced a carefully folded piece of paper explaining the goals of Vice’s plan. Jessie poured over this, reading words at a profound speed before tearing the paper into pieces.
Jessie: “…Do you just get off on seeing me get hair-tearing frustrated?”
Black Vice: “Well, I think it’s cute at the very least…”
Fully expecting that response, Jessie looked at Vice like a wife looking at her do-nothing husband after she asked him to fix the sink for the 14th consecutive week in a row. She was disappointed in Vice… but mostly disappointed in herself.
Jessie: “…Okay, so we’re going to put on suits and age ourselves up. Vice, you’re going back to your Dan Vespa form, right?”
Zach: “Not quite. Vice requested that we prepare something more thorough.”
Quintin: “He’s talkin’ ’bout skinsuits!”
With that declaration, Quintin opened up their clothing box, revealing a violet suit jacket, dress shirt, and matching skirt. Something expected and normal. On the other side of the box, however, there was… a person’s skin, neatly and elegantly folded, with the head propped up, showing their long permed blonde hair and the empty eye and mouth sockets. It would be a jarring sight for most people, but what gave Jessie pause was… the fact this skinsuit was White.
Jessie: “…You’re going to make me wear whiteface for several years?”
Black Vice: “Jessie, I would love to use this as an opportunity for America to get its first Black vice president, to get its first Black president, and to get its first Black female president. However, do you think that would really work after everything you are seeing on screen? People are scared, they’re confused, and if you push the envelope too fast, they will panic, become paranoid. Which is why we need to have a comfortable cracker at the helm. …But they also demand more change than just two plain-ass White dudes, so you’ll have the honor of being the first female vice president. …And probably the first female president, let’s be real.”
Jessie: “…Couldn’t I at least be a Black man instead of a White woman?”
Black Vice: “That’s not how it works. It’s sexism, then racism!”
Jessie: “What? That’s not how it worked in—”
Quintin: “Quit your bitching and put on the damn skinsuits! We’ve got shit to do too, y’know.”
Zach: “Such as campaign management and preparing to become key figures in your cabinet. Searching for replacements for 6 Supreme Court justices, 407 congresspeople, and other people who can ally us during—”
Black Vice: “Yeah, quit acting like this is all about you, Jessie. We’re all part of this!”
Jessie stared at Vice with tired frustration… before yanking the box out of Quintin’s hands.
Jessie: “Fine, I’ll be a team player!”
Frustrated, Jessie stripped then and there, while Vice did the same, the two methodically taking off their clothes and underwear before they grabbed their skinsuits. The suits were artificial, but there was still something deeply bizarre about taking what felt, smelt, and looked like another person’s skin and putting it over oneself. And with every snap of skinsuit onto skin, their bodily proportions shifted. Growing smaller, larger, shorter, or taller as their frames were reformed through means… that were best left unexplained.
This was far from the first time either had done something like this, yet that did not stop Jessie from feeling unease. Seeing her well honed and muscular Black body be absorbed— consumed— by the form of a White woman. She took pride in herself, in her race, and both seeing and feeling the contrast with her true form and the sheathe she was putting on… simply unsettled her.
Still, she felt her arms and fingers shrink as they became something more thin and delicate, felt her muscles fade away, her bust and butt grow at least a size smaller, and lastly, her face. The shape completely changed, reforged into the narrow realm of Euro-centric beauty standards. Her maintained coiled hair was replaced with something frizzy and more scattered, feeling less regimented while being, in the eyes of the world, more ‘professional’.
As Jessie opened her eyes, she found that Zach was holding a full-length mirror before her, allowing her to see what this new persona of hers, Jennifer Gleam, looked like. Standing at 177 centimeters tall, weighing approximately 65 kilograms, with blonde hair fashioned into a curly perm that went past her shoulders, but not by much. The hairstyle had an impressive amount of volume and the dark color drew in eyes to her face. A face that looked like it belonged on the cover of a business magazine.
Youthful, traditionally attractive, made complete with a small symmetrical nose and bright green eyes. However, there was also something intimidating about it. Perhaps due to its resting position or Jessie’s chosen expression, but she looked like someone who would harm those who did her wrong. A bad bitch who would not take anything lying down. As a whole, she had the sort of powerful aura that a woman would need to succeed in corporate America. Which was basically the same as American politics.
The body beneath the face was similarly well-maintained. Slender, not muscular, yet far from emaciated, with a good amount of fat in the preferable places. She wasn’t quite at a model level, but easily at the ‘hottest woman in the office’ level. Looking it over and patting this form over, Jessie looked… satisfied. Or as satisfied as she could be knowing she would need to spend nearly a decade looking like this.
Jessie: “At least this body is young, so maintenance should not be too difficult or…”
Jessie paused at the sound of this new voice. It was clear, commanding, and somewhat deep for a woman. Much like everything about this body, she was struck by how different it was, yet seemed to be begrudgingly satisfied with it.
Jessie: “I better get used to being called Jennifer from now on. Shortening it to Jenna or Jenny would be a possibility, but as the first female politician to hold this office, it may be—”
As Jessie mused to herself, she felt something wrap around her waist. She twisted herself and saw the face of a White man smiling at her. She looked at him with confusion for a moment before realizing that this must be Vice’s new persona, Devin Verres. True to Vice’s description… Devin looked like a 42-year-old White dude. He stood taller than Jennifer at 186 centimeters and weighed a good ten kilos more, a lot of it stored in his burgeoning middle-aged man gut. All things considered, his weight was fairly well distributed. At least to the extent he wouldn’t look fat while in a suit.
He had a full head of black hair, basic brown eyes, and a face that had the particular contours, or je ne sais quoi, to be read by an international audience as distinctly American. There was a certain humility to his appearance. He was handsome for his age, but not ‘actor’ or ‘hot guy’ handsome, and definitely more relatable looking than many other politicians. He looked safe, comfortable, a bit common, like someone who every person in America has had as a friend, co-worker, or teacher. …But despite wearing a convincing appearance as Devin, Jessie still spoke to him as she would speak to Vice.
Jessie Jennifer: “Hello… Devin.”
Black Vice Devin: “Ha! As I’d expect from good old Jenna. Always on top of everything!”
Devin’s voice was about what one would expect. Clear, abrasive, good at projecting, had a lingering East Coast accent, but it was captivating. The sort of voice that demands one’s attention without being grating or annoying.
Jennifer: “With you around, I need to be. Or else I’ll get lost and forgotten about.”
Devin: “C’mon, don’t talk to your running mate like that. We need to be hand-in-hand if we want to inspire hope in a scarred America.”
Jennifer: “We also shouldn’t be getting all chummy while in the nude either, but that didn’t stop you.”
Vice, or rather Devin, took his hands off Jessie, or rather Jennifer and raised them high, making an exaggerated expression as he distanced himself from her. With a groan, Jennifer began sifting through the box of clothes, pulling out a plain bra and putting it over her average-sized chest.
Devin: “Let the people know that I am not a perv! Or at least I won’t be when the mental part of this transformation seeps in.”
Jennifer: “…And that’s something I should have expected, isn’t that right?”
Devin: “Of course! Do you seriously think I’d trust myself to keep all my inhibitions at bay? Or for you to do the same?”
Jennifer: “I can control my emotions just fine… but it will be easier with auto-pilot.”
Zach: “I don’t mean to pry, but we do need to leave soon. …Unless you two want to just poof to San Francisco for the press junket.”
Jennifer: “…And as public figures, performing inhuman actions is off the table, right?”
Quintin: “Yeah, people will want to know where you two are 24/7, so no teleporting or any convenient shit like that. …But if you ever run into an LHO, you know what to do.”
Devin: “Oh, I do. And with my radical policies, the Secret Service will have their word cut out for them.”
As the four conversed, Jennifer and Devin finished putting on their suits. Jennifer took another opportunity to look at herself in the mirror, dressed in a smart skirt, white top, and violet blazer with wide shoulder pads. It was very now, very post second wave feminism, but made her seem bold, like a leader, and a woman who was not ashamed to be a woman. While Devin… was just some guy in a navy suit with a red tie. He could be an executive, or he could be a president. The line between the two was always rather thin.
Devin: “Looking good Jenna! Are you ready to make your first public appearance?”
Jennifer: “As ready as I can be on such short notice. Do we have scripts, or are we just going to wing it?”
Zach: “I’ve already prepared scripts for the two of you, just so you make a good first impression. You can review them in the car. I also grabbed Whitney and made arrangements for them to be raised in the most accommodating household we can manage.”
Quintin: “So let’s, finally, get the FUCK out of here. I can practically smell the Nazi stank.”
With that final declaration, the four made their way out of this building, to an innocuous car, and left the forested depths of The Nujiboe Society behind. The four had a long drive to get to their destination, and as they drove down the 101, the weight of this commitment settled in with them. The world they were returning to has been irrevocably changed, its future sent on a different trajectory. As ‘burgeoning’ world leaders, they were more responsible for this than anyone. They would need to not only navigate a sensitive climate, but set the tone for the next few decades of American politics. It would require a lot of planning, a lot of foresight… but when the members of the Black Shitenno band together, the impossible was malleable.
Part 4: The First Speech
Date: Sunday, August 14, 1988
Time: 17:00 UTC – 10:00 LT
Location: San Francisco, California, United States
The people of the United States were glued to their televisions after they learned about what happened this morning. The institutions they had relied upon had brutally betrayed them. Those who sought refuge in the church were met with a rude awakening as churches around the country were overrun with what could poetically be described as demonic acts. Priests who ought to reassure their congregation threw themselves at children like animals, or rushed toward the Colored person with the nearest weapon. The government as a whole shut down after politicians began demanding that they take the tanks out of storage and the police started preaching for genocide. For as much fear lingered in the country during the propagandized devastation of The Cold War, it never reached this apex. It couldn’t. While nuclear death was terrifying, it was known, it was understood. But here? Not even the best reporters in the country knew what was going on.
The people needed reassurance. They needed order from a calming presence, from a person, a man, they could trust. And Devin Verres was set to be that man.
Devin stood before a podium on a stage, looking into a camera operated by Quintin while Zach and Jennifer stood by. His face was adorned with a serious expression that would seem odd on Vice’s cute face, yet made Devin look like a man with the temperament to lead. He shut his eyes as he prepared to adopt his role as a presidential nominee, letting the synthetic memories and persona of this identity wash through him. Then, with the call of action, he began his first speech to the world.
Devin: “My fellow Americans. By now, I trust that you have all seen the horrors that have been circulated across television and radio. Sights of politicians, religious leaders, and even President Ratters himself, all engaging in behaviors that are beyond reprehensible. Rape, murder, racial violence, all primarily directed at… children. Our confidence in our nation, perhaps even in humanity at large, is at its lowest point in our lifetimes.”
Devin: “There is no ambiguity to their actions, no reason or justification that can defend them, and I feel confident in saying that all of us feel betrayed. Because we have been. These people betrayed the American people and stained our nation’s legacy. They are an affront to the ideals and values America was founded on. They have shirked their responsibilities in a manner so extreme that, frankly, I would not believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
Devin: “In moments like this, it is easy to lose faith. To embrace nihilism and despair as the cornerstones of one’s life have collapsed. I know I felt similarly after Watergate. The cracks in the American political system were clear then, but rather than restore it, it seems that all Ratters did was do a better job at hiding the disease as it festered.”
Devin: “This is a call to action. To all politicians, to all leaders, untouched by this tragedy, to do better. To be better. To look at the evils expressed this morning and say no more. I will do all I can to not only restore but to improve America, to make it better than ever. To do this, I will need help from each and every one of you. From every American who believes in decency, fairness, and the ideals of our country. Together, we will not make America great again. We will make America better than ever. We can make it, comprehensively, in every possible metric, the greatest nation on Earth.”
Devin: “I am aware this is a heavy promise, but I swear on my life to do everything I possibly can for this country, for its people. A nation that holds true to the ideals of liberty, equality, and justice, but aims to be so much more. In times of turmoil, we need to be strong, we need to be resilient, and we need to be there for each other. Together, let’s remember our core values, and together, do the right thing. Not just for a few, not just for the elite, but for all of us.”
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