Author's Note: Hello! This is my first fan fiction- ever! so I need all the feedback (positive or negative, though I certainly want more of the former than the latter). Please note that I am writing this for my own enjoyment, so try not to take it too seriously. Also, while I do own a lovely copy of Good Omens (along with a photo album, several pencils, three small notebooks and any other number of odd and ends which I can stack on top of my homework), I do not, I repeat, do no own the characters, locations, etc. They are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
Chapter 1: In Which the Anti-Christ is Bored and Nothing Much Happens
The apocalypse had been successfully averted and everything had returned to normal*. The seas had not boiled, the air had not been rent with fire and brimstone, the Kraken had not arisen, Heaven and Hell had not fought the Final Battle, Atlantis had returned to whence it came, and no one had seen any aliens for well over a month now**. Newt had returned to his newspaper clipping***, Shadwell had returned to his grungy apartment, Madame Tracy had her body all to herself again, the Arrangement remained in tact, and the Them continued to terrorize Mr. Ronald P. Tyler with a "blatant and shameful disrespect for their elders which sadly seems to characterize many of today's youth"****. In short, life was extremely dull.
*Well, as normal as anything can be with an anti-Christ entering into his Awkward Teenage Years, but you can't expect to have everything.
**The Loch Ness monster, on the other hand, had been getting quite a bit of publicity recently.
***Albeit in a different location and in improved company.
****Tadfield Advertiser Editorial, written and submitted by Mr. Tyler
It looked as though it might actually turn out to be a nice day. After hours of fitful downpours, the sun was finally beginning to show through the thick, grey cloud cover along with faint snatches of pristine blue sky. Below, along a quiet little street in Soho, England, the pavement glistened, wet and slick, in the struggling sunlight as the owner of a small bookshop locked his doors and headed out before any would-be customers could take advantage of the improved weather and, banish the thought, buy something. Besides, he had somewhere to be.
Evil does not have rain delays, cancellations, or anything of the sort. It forges on, and, in the case of the Mayfair District, that evil took the form of a fashionably attired man with dark shades, driving a vintage Bentley. Crowley had spent his morning quietly switching the magazine subscriptions for several prominent Christian magazines* with ones for Playboy. Hastur could waste all the time he wanted trying to tempt some priest** but Crowley liked to think of himself as more of a modern man, er, demon. In any case, he was heading down to St. James Park, a bag of bread keeping him company from the passenger seat. Despite the fact he was traveling at approximately 80 miles per hour through town, Crowley would, no doubt, arrive just in time to be fashionably late***.
As soon as the sun had come out, Adam had set out to collect the Them and explain his latest idea. However, everyone either wasn't home or was busy with their science projects**** so Adam was left to sit dejectedly on the milk crate, in the pit, by himself. It was warm! It was sunny! It was everything a boy could wish for and yet Adam had absolutely nothing to do. He had nowhere to go and no one to talk to and the more Adam sat there, the more he wished that something big would happen, something really big.
*Do these even exist? I dunno. I wouldn't be on the mailing list.
**Super obligatory book reference, I choose you!
***Angels, of course, don't believe in the concept of "fashionably late". Making someone else wait because you decided to take your time is rude- plain and simple, no matter how "fashionable" it's becoming.
****Adam, true to form, had yet to start his own project but you have a bit more leeway to procrastinate when you're an anti-Christ. Which Adam was.
Somewhere, far deeper than even Tibetan Monks had traveled, where there was only one time, a note was jotted down on a piece of hide. The note was then placed on a desk in a little black bin labeled "New Orders". Adam was about to get his wish.