Postal: Helluva Piece of Bullshit.

Level: Trailer Crash

8:37 PM.

Postal Dude was driving in his newly retrieved trailer after it had been stolen. Him and Champ, his best friend, drove throughout the day looking for somewhere to settle down. Sure, Champ was a dog, but god damn was it the best dog in the whole fucking world to him. Later that night, he smoked some "illegal substances" and got high.

2:43 AM.

Postal Dude was eating out of an old bag of sliced gruyère cheese. Dude looked lazily back at his dog.

"Hey, Champ. How you doin' back there?"

Champ was lying on the ground, asleep. He drooled all over the ground, and Postal Dude sneered with disgust on his face. Rick put his attention back onto the wheel, and kept driving.

3:28 AM.

Dude had started to feel drowsy, but kept driving. He looked down at his map and it told him to stay on the main road. He looked off to the side, and saw a highway which would take him to a nearby motel. He decided to take a pitstop at the motel to rest for the remaining time left in the night. Shortly after he noticed this, he took out his notepad and wrote a note to himself in his iconic To-Do list. The note merely said "Find a nearby motel." He looked at the note for a second and put it down.

3:46 AM.

Dude was almost there, only a couple miles left to go. Suddenly, he started to doze off into sleep. He tried snapping out of it, and it worked for a few seconds. After that, he would doze off soonly after once again.

"Damn, I need to get to that fuckin' motel, and fast."

He thought to himself, and rubbed his goatee. There were only four and a third miles left or so, and he had plenty of gas. He decided to speed up.

Since he was high off marijuana, his driving skills had been at an all time low. The world around him started to distort, and this didn't help that he had been driving all night. He started to cuss loudly in anger and frustration. Suddenly, he started to swerve. The trailer shaked and so did everything inside it. Weapons fell, grimy plates shattered, and Champ was rolling across the floor still unconscious. Postal Dude would have chuckled at this, but now wasn't the time. After he had finally gotten some alone time with him and his dog, he was about to go down into another spiral of another day in Hell, literally. Finally, a crash and tumbling noises were the last thing he heard.

His vision went to black, and everything around him went silent. He could hear the occasional honking but it all faded into nothingness soon after. He didn't hear Champ's barking, he didn't hear the distinct yelling of people, he didn't hear anything. It was silent, and it was unfamiliar to him. He was used to the generic screaming of his victims or angry bitches at stores cussing him out for offending them, but now it was different. Suddenly, this was soon interrupted.

He woke up falling in the air. He looked around, seeming unfazed by what was happening. He examined everything around him and saw the sky. It was velvet, it looked like the color of blood. He squinted, trying to check he was either high or seeking reality. To his non-existent surprise, he wasn't high.

"Huh, that's odd."

Postal Dude thought aloud to himself, still falling in the air. He patiently waited for him to hit the ground, thinking it was a dream. After a while of dilly dallying, he finally hit the ground. When he hit the ground, he didn't wake up or seem too heavily harmed.

"Youch. Medicare ain't insuring that."

He got up, and started to rub his head. He had a bruise, which was odd to say the least. He should of died from that fall, but he didn't.

"Something's off."

He said aloud and looked around him. He was in a busy city, with all sorts of demons and devils roaming around in all kinds of sizes. He looked at them weirdly.

"I'm not where I'm supposed to be."

Then, he looked down at his hands. His hands were still normal, and so was everything else. He still had his trenchcoat, his alien t-shirt, his sunglasses (Which were shattered, but that's not a main concern. However, causing another inconvenience for him to worry about.)
and his goatee was unharmed. His clothes were a tad dirty, but he had better things to worry about.

"Where the hell am I?"

He asked seemingly no-one, but to his prevail someone answered. Postal Dude looked at the man and immediately realized he was no longer on the road to the motel. Infact, he was no longer on Earth.

"Hell, you fuckin' dumbass."

The demon chirped up, and had an egotistical look towards Postal Dude. However, there was a look of disgust and confusion towards him. Postal Dude was human, unlike everyone else there. The demon was fuzzy, and was red. It was an Imp. They were short, only about 4' feet tall or so. Postal Dude dwarved the Imp in size. Postal Dude looked at the demon oddly, still not realizing the sincerity of his situation. Then, Postal Dude responded in his generic manner.

"Don't call me a dumbass, moron."

Postal Dude sneered at the demon, and looked down at his feet. His shoes were covered in blood, but not his own. A nearby corpse was bleeding out and had a shovel nearby. "Damnit, I got blood on my shoes." He muttered under his breath, now annoyed with this new environment.

"Oh, what are you gonna do about it?" The demon mocked him and gestured at Postal Dude.

Postal Dude sneered at this, and replied once more.

"This."

He picked up the shovel out of the corpse's hand, and swung it at the devil. All it took was one fatal swing at him and his head came clean off. The once-was demon fell to the ground, bleeding and now deceased. His head was lying off to the side, with a shocked face on it. It didn't take much, and Postal Dude had already killed it. He shrugged it off, and kept walking. To his shock, no police or anyone around immediately attacked him. Postal Dude was quite happy with this new surprise, as he could kill freely without any consequences. He was used to police officers hitting him with their batons and yelling things at him, while Postal Dude was aiming to blow their brains out at the same time.

"Huh, I wonder if there's some furry convention 'round here."

He thought to himself, intrigued by all these new figures. He saw all people of different sizes and looks around him, all of them being completely different from each other. He kept walking, and saw different sights that were normal to him. People having sex in public, people robbing banks, prostitutes, homeless people, murder, arson, y'know, the usual. He looked at his shoes, disappointed he already stained his shoes with blood in the first twenty minutes he had been here. "Ugh, I need to get those cleaned." He said underneath his breath, looking around for something like a laundromat. Then he realized.

"Shit, I don't have any money."

He checked his pocket, and tucked them inside out. There was nothing inside, other than some pocket litten and a few pennies. He sighed in disappointment, and looked around for a job he could find. He checked torn up newspapers on the ground, looked at electricity poles, and even watched the TV's in those TV store windows for commercials. Obviously, he didn't find anything.

He kept walking, having no goal of where to head. He saw more gruesome sights, which would be enough to make any normal person vomit, but Postal Dude wasn't one of them. He whistled a small tune, and looked around. Finally, he sat down. He rested at a bench, and took a nap. Postal Dude was done with this Hell bullshit.

(A/U)
Hey everyone, it's the writer here. This is my first fanfic, and I'm pretty damn happy of it. Being my first fanfic and all, I think 1,300~ words is pretty good. When I get around to it, the next chapter will take place in the Helluva Boss Pilot. It's definitely going to have wayyyy more words in it, but I just wanted to start off with a small and easy first chapter.