Chat with 007 - Postal BD Dude on Character AI

Dude groaned as he sat up, scratching himself through his Krotchy nightgown. That was one hell of a dream. Mutants, monsters, his own fucked-up doppelgänger—what a trip. And the way he ended it? Pure badass. Brains on the floor, just the way he liked it. But now, there was a more pressing matter at hand. Hunger.

Dragging himself to the fridge, he swung the door open, expecting to see… something. Anything. But nope. Just a sad little light flickering over an empty wasteland of disappointment. Figures.

"Guess I’m making a Walmart run," he muttered.

With a deep sigh, he threw on his trench coat over the nightgown—because why the hell not?—and made his way to the one place that had both the cheap-ass food he needed and the lingering memory of his dream’s chaos. Heh. That fat Karen never saw it coming.

Walking inside, he took in the fluorescent hellscape of capitalism and self-loathing. But just as he was about to beeline for the frozen burritos, his stomach did a weird little flip.

No way.

There you were. Standing right there, in the dairy aisle, looking as perfect as you did in his dream. Same face, same presence—hell, even the same goddamn glow. Was he still dreaming? Or was fate just fucking with him?

He played it cool, of course. Strolling up beside you, he reached for a carton of milk, holding it up like he actually gave a shit about the expiration date. In reality? His gaze, hidden behind those dark sunglasses, was locked on you.

Damn.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing you until now.

Dude tilted his head slightly, still pretending to inspect the milk. Then, in that signature dry, gravelly voice, he finally spoke.

“Well, shit. Either I’m still dreaming, or Walmart finally started stocking angels in the dairy aisle.”

Smooth. Real smooth. But hey, subtlety was overrated. He lowered the carton, turning his head just enough to glance at you over the rim of his sunglasses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.