The Postal Dude was taking a free ride in the suspicious man's truck towards the outside deserts of Paradise. He had a feeling that whatever was inside the crates in the back of the truck wasn't typical exterminator equipment. In any case, the Postal Dude kept quiet as he sat on the leather seats and rolled down the window to get rid of the scent of tobacco and semen present in the truck. There were a couple empty beer bottles and torn magazines on at his feet, which he tried his best to ignore. The man had a grin on his face, like a he had just got a winning lotto ticket. Something was definitely not right.

"So! Tell me about yourself before we get there. What's your name, boy?"

"What's yours first, since you're the one who made the advance and the one running this business?" the Dude reversed.

"Mah name's Larry Chakawitz! Proud founder of the Paradise Pest Police! Now, what's yours?"

"Well, now that I know who I need to namedrop in case the worst possible thing happens, just call me "Dude" and leave it at that. Fits me perfectly in this God-forsaken world."

Larry seemed content with the reply. The Postal Dude moved on to a different, more important topic.

"Don't the cops have any problem with you? You did say this was "questionably legal" back there."

Larry didn't say anything and continued to drive his pickup truck out of Paradise and now into the merciless desert. Thirty minutes later after going off the road for a bit, the car stopped, and Larry got out. The two men were what appeared to be a ghetto shooting range with wooden stands, a couple brown crates, and a few oddly-shaped cacti. Two decent shacks were at the sides of the sight, with an ugly door and broken windows.

"Well, we're here! Get out here and I'll train you right, boy!" Larry called out as the Dude looked at the back of the truck. He swore he saw something moving on the bottom…

"I still didn't get an answer."

"Well, answer's a coming. Help me unload some of this stuff, will ya?" Larry ordered as the two men used all their might to lift one of the crates out of the truck and lowered it onto the desert floor. Larry squatted and opened up the crate to reveal several heavy-duty military firearms and ammunition. The Dude's eyes widened and his eyebrows were raised in admiration.

"I figured something like this was involved when you brought up questionably legal pest control. Now that I think about it, where the hell are the other employees?"

Larry looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Well now, that's the thing. You see, the mayor of this town wants me to get rid of the town's "pest" problems. The main problem is; the police don't exactly agree with my methods I employ. I tried to branch out with other good folk like you, but all of them got thrown into the slammer. And now, well, you're the only helpin' hand I got. Luckily, a couple of them accept bribes, which is why I can get into some parts of the town with my truck here. If they ever found out about the mayor and I, well, you know what would happen." Larry explained. Suddenly the Dude completely understood him.

"Figures how the cops can't do what they're supposed to, yet they're the first ones to be up in arms when some vigilantes move in and do their jobs better." The Dude reached down to the crates and started to pull out a gun.

"The way I see it, they should be showin' us some respect for making an actual difference! And you'll be a part of that soon enough; you ever use a gun like this before?" Larry asked the Dude, who was now gripping an M16 assault rifle. The Dude's face beamed with happiness beyond measure like he crossed paths with a freshly loaded crack pipe.

"No, but I'm ready to go to class!"

"That's the spirit, boy! Let's get you acquainted with what you'll be workin' with." Larry said as he went to the back of his truck and grabbed hold of what appeared to be a squirming, man-sized bag from underneath the bundle of weapons.

"Yeah, see right here, this fella been eatin' good. Give him his daily dose of lead." Larry chatted as he sauntered over to a cactus and unzipped the bag to reveal a man with tasteless and cheap clothing with a big beanie hat almost falling off his face. He had a build similar to the Postal Dude but had a much uglier face.

"Gnargh! I'll kill you!" the man cried in anger as he fell limp to the ground. His legs were broken as to not escape, as Larry went back to the truck to get some rope to turn the man into a target for the Dude. Meanwhile, the Dude twisted his gun around to get a better look at it. It was almost entirely black and had more weight than expected to it. It felt nice to hold, but would it feel nice to shoot?

Larry came back with some high-quality rope and struggled to prop up the wounded man against the cactus, but managed to succeed in the long run. The man's arms were stretched out and his back against the prickly cactus, nearly bawling his eyes out.

"This scumbag and his friends are what are wrong with Paradise. They funnel in all these damn drugs and make everybody else suffer! Then they try to harass the good folk, thinking they can do whatever you want! Well, I for one will not stand for this! Someones gonna have to clean up this city, and it's gonna be you-I mean, us!" Larry spat as the tied up man struggled against the cactus. The Postal Dude frowned slightly, realizing he belonged to the group of people Larry Chakawitz wanted to eradicate from Paradise thanks to his crack addiction. But if he could keep the crack pipes belonging to him to a low-profile, everything could be all right for him.

"Well, what are you waitin' for? Give that trigger a tight pull!"

The Dude shrugged and emptied the entire clip into the man, easily killing him. All that remained was a gruesomely shot-up corpse against a cactus. Even though it felt incredibly cheap to kill a defenseless man, the Dude felt no remorse. The thrill of killing someone by emptying an entire magazine worth of bullets into them was more than enough to reel in the Dude. Now he had a fair reason to go on a killing spree; taking out all his frustration and pent-up disgust on this world by being a mercenary.

"Now, don't that feel good? Here, I got a couple more for you to try out!" Larry applauded as he got another crate and another body from his truck and set it up. It was a woman with trashy "wannabe" gangster clothing with a face that showed signs of serious meth use. This time, Larry got a SPAS-12 shotgun and chucked it to the Dude. This is what a heavy gun felt like.

"Please! Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I promise I won't do it again!" The woman whined as she was propped up against another cactus.

"Sometimes you gotta get in close for things like this. That SPAS-12 is gonna do the job."

The Postal Dude cracked his neck via tilting before realizing he was going to like this job a lot. The last thing the woman heard before being reduced to a bloody mess?

"This is gonna be sweet!"