Monday Through Sunday - A POSTAL Crossover

“Games are bad! They make you mad! Games are bad! They make you mad!”

A man by the name of The Postal Dude awoke to the annoying sound of protesters outside his trailer house. Judging by their chanting, they were most likely those “Parents for Decency” nuts.

This was probably gonna be one of those days.

Looking out his window, he noticed the protesters were circling his workplace next door, the Running With Scissors office of Bumfuk, New Mexico. The old one had unfortunately been nuked when he had left said nuke in the office of [CENSORED] publishing, and also he was technically fired a week before for completely unrelated reasons.

Regardless, he had gotten a job at another RWS office no problem, since apparently background checks were going out of style. And now that office was being protested.

“Hey! Idiots! Keep it down, will ya!” Postal Dude screamed out his window, but the protesters paid him no mind.

Grumbling in frustration, Dude quickly put on his trademark jacket and sunglasses, and walked out into the constantly dusk sunlight. The moment he did, one of the protesters looked his way and pointed. “Hey, it’s that asshole that killed our decent brethren over in Paradise! Get him!”

The parents all instantly dropped their signs and exchanged them for all manner of shovels, shotguns, and automatic assault weapons, completely missing the irony of their response.

Postal Dude sighed, reaching into his jacket. It was definitely going to be one of those days.

A few hours later, blood spattered the streets of Bumfuk, the corpses of protestors, bystanders, a few cops, and even a number of Taliban members equally scattered. Standing in the middle of the chaos was Postal Dude, a shotgun in his hands.

“You know, I’m surprised that the military hasn’t gotten involved yet, what with all the people I’ve killed.”

At just that moment, for reasons currently unknown, a plane flew high overhead, and Dude could see something dropping from it, falling towards the center of town. Whatever it was, it was awfully bomb shaped, and there was also just one, which was never a good sign.

“Oh, god dammit, not again!” He cursed, taking off sprinting for his trailer. Those could survive nukes, right? At least he thought they could, according to that one shitty movie he saw at some point. As he closed the door behind him, the nuclear missile hit the ground.

BOOOOOOM!

And just like that, everything faded into darkness for the intrepid Postal Dude.

Just before it enveloped him, a single thought flew through his mind:

“Wait, when was the last time I saved, again?”

Meanwhile, across several planes of existence, Ponyville was having a decidedly average day. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and everypony was getting along with each other just fine.

Near the outskirts of town, a certain gray-coated, skew-eyed pegasus was happily walking home, humming a cheerful tune.

Suddenly, there was an odd noise in the air above her, and she looked up to see a large, metal object falling right towards her, with no hope of her getting out of the way in time.

Still smiling, the pegasus looked straight (well, mostly) towards her impending demise.

“Well shit.”

And with that, the metal object made impact, with a noise that was later described as “one of the worst noises you’ve ever heard, but not quite as bad as that opera we went to last week”.

As the trailer landed, Postal Dude awoke, his body screaming in pain from the impact, which is a completely normal part of being nuked and then falling a good distance in a trailer home. However, the pain also told him that he was still alive, somehow, which was good.

As he rose to his feet, Postal Dude checked himself for any injuries. Surprisingly, he didn’t have any broken limbs, though his head wound was reopened by the fall, and as such he was losing a good amount of blood. Nothing necessarily life threatening, but still a bit worrying.

A quick self-patdown revealed that he also still had all his weapons stuffed into various pockets on his pants and jacket. So he could at least defend himself should something happen.

Finding his way through the twisted hunk of metal that used to be his house proved to be a little more challenging than he thought, however, but he was eventually able to find a gaping hole probably used to be the front door. Outside, he could see nothing but trees in the distance, which was odd, since the part of New Mexico he was in had strict rationing on trees.

Emerging into the open air, Dude noticed the particular smell of a fresh corpse, and spied a small puddle of blood spreading from underneath his wrecked trailer.

He thought for a bit about it, then shrugged. “Oh well, not like it was my fault, this time.”

Looking around his former home, Postal Dude spotted a town not too far away. What was odd, though, was that the buildings looked almost primitive, and also far too colorful for their own good.

Oh, and the approaching group of curious, small, colorful horses didn’t help matters.

Once again, Postal Dude thought over things, before reaching a conclusion as to what course of action he should take, first.

“Man, I need to take a piss.”

Walking back to the front(?) of his house, Dude unzipped his pants and did just that, letting out a small sigh of relief.

“Wherever the hell I am, hopefully it won’t be too crazy.”