This was originally intended to fit between the birth of the antichrist and the main events of Good Omens (the Apocalypse, ca. 1990). This story, then, would take place sometime in the 1980s, which would make sense within the context of both the Good Omens timeline (set before our main characters' lives become...terminally busy) and pop culture with respect to the rise of video arcades, at least in America. I know even less about British arcades than American ones, so there's that... I suppose this could just as easily be set in America, given who - or what, rather - the main characters are, so think of it that way if I've botched it that badly.
In any case, I said that it was _supposed_ to fall somewhere between about 1979 and 1990, but I kind of forgot this when I was actually writing the story, so the names and descriptions of the games would more acurately place the story in the 1990s. So, technically, it would be after the whole Apocalypse thing. Which sounds rather impossible, unless you've read the book.
And for those of you who haven't read Good Omens, first of all, shame on you. You've done yourself a great disservice. That being said, the Dramatis Personae lists Aziraphale as "An angel, and part-time rare book dealer," and Crowley as "An Angel who did not so much Fall as Saunter Vaguely Downwards" - a demon. They have been on earth since the beginning (of earth, that is), however, and have adjusted accordingly.
Now, then. Let's get started, shall we?
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“Explain again to me why we’re here...”
.....The speaker was a man in his thirties (or appeared to be...), plain looking but not strictly unattractive, and quite overdressed for the crowded, noisy arcade he had found himself in. His nose was turned up at the din. .....His companion took a slow, noisy slurp through the straw of the soda that he had purchased at the Burger Lord next door and that was strictly prohibited as per the rules posted as conspicuously as possible all around the arcade. No one made any motion to stop him. .....“To get you back for that trip to that poetry thing in ’78.” He meant, of course, 1878. .....The second man, like the first, spoke with an accent that gave anyone listening the impression that he was a native of southern England. He was well dressed, as well, but unlike the other man he gave off the impression that this was not because he should be well dressed, but because he could be. His attitude and, to a slightly lesser degree, his appearance left the impression that he was younger than the man to his right. .....One of these impressions was correct. .....He took another slurp of his soda and casually tossed the paper cup into a nearby rubbish bin. The neon lights reflected eerily off of the lenses of his sleek black sunglasses. .....“That was a cultural experience,” the first man said, looking around nervously. .....“So is this.” .....The man in the glasses headed purposefully toward a machine proclaiming in large block letters that it was “Satan’s Vengeance XVII.” The game was occupied by a rather excited young man who was quite effectively blasting his way through the level he was on and showed no signs of losing any time in the foreseeable future. Crowley was digging industriously through his pockets for change, regardless. Just as he arrived at the machine, Aziraphale in tow, the machine announced with a loud, anguished scream and a demonic, or more precisely, a satanic laugh that the game was over. .....“What?!” the boy yelled, glaring at the screen. “I had six lives left!” .....Crowley waited patiently for a moment as the boy angrily pounded random controls with first his finger, then his fist, and, when he walked off muttering something about all the nasty things he was going to do to the manager when he found him, Crowley stepped up and slipped a quarter into the slot. .....The same laugh sounded again and the game began, but unlike the boy who had only recently been playing, as well as every other player who had come before him, Crowley played not as humanity’s last hope against the forces of evil, but as Satan himself. Instead of a back flip, the A button now caused every Southern Baptist on the level to immediately begin speaking in tongues. Hitting A and B at the same time, Aziraphale noted without meaning to, made their heads spin, as well. .....After a moment of watching with growing interest, Aziraphale caught himself. Crowley had obviously caught him, too, and was smiling devilishly. Or demonically. .....“They’re one of ours, you know. Arcades,” the angel said in a feeble attempt to explain himself. .....“I believe you’ll find that the majority of your most devoted followers would disagree vehemently with you.” .....“They are,” Aziraphale insisted. .....Crowley’s eyes never strayed from the screen.* “Oh, yeah? Your lot invented ‘Carnal Death VI,’ did they? The one where you play as your choice of large-breasted, skimpily-clad, gun-toting blondes and get 50 bonus points for every old lady with a walker that you blow away?” .....Crowley had reached the first level boss. Aziraphale waited a moment to answer, whether out of natural courtesy or because he was searching frantically for a rebuttal. The image of Saint Margaret crumpled into a small pile of pixels and the second level began. .....“Better to let them take out their natural aggressions on video game characters than each other,” the angel finally said, a bit more confidently than he felt. .....“Ah, but it also rots children’s minds.” As evidenced by the ensuing explosion that took out an entire line of Methodist churches. .....“It keeps them off the streets, though.” Aziraphale doubted he could keep up the charade much longer. .....“Alright, then. Let’s assume –just for kicks– that they are one of yours. Why were you so opposed to coming here?” .....Ah, Aziraphale had him here. .....“Elgar, as you are so fond of reminding me, is one of ours, as well. That doesn’t mean I would voluntarily listen to ‘Pomp and Circumstance’.” .....Crowley, knowing that he had been soundly out-argued on that point, yawned theatrically and tried to draw attention away from his failure. .....“I don’t know why I play this game. There’s no challenge to it. Look, I’ve only lost one HP, and that was because a piece of that steeple grazed me when it fell.” .....A wry smile crept to the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth and, after glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, he traced a complicated shape behind his back. On the screen, a vaguely humanoid figure, beaming beatifically and bathed in light that could only be described as “heavenly,” descended and held out its hands. Satan disappeared with little more than a pop and a few white lines in the manner of so many Saturday morning cartoons. Angelic voices joined in chorus as the screen explained, just in case it wasn’t obvious enough, that the game was over. .....Crowley pursed his lips. Chances are good that he also blinked once, pointedly, behind his glasses. He turned slowly to face his friend for the first time in many minutes. .....“Very subtle, Az.” .....The angel grinned and they headed for the door. .
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*This is not entirely true. Crowley never turned his head, and he never missed a single foe, whether Catholic or Protestant, so almost anyone watching him would have assumed that his eyes never strayed from the screen. Aziraphale, however, knew better than to insinuate that the demon could only set cathedrals ablaze or cause Benedictine monks to fall to their knees in the throes of erotic passion while looking at them. You could never really be sure where Crowley was looking unless you saw his eyes, and no one ever saw his eyes.
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Burger Lord and McLordy the Clown are registered trademarks of the Newtrition Corporation, created and owned by Raven Sable. Crowley, Aziraphale, and Raven Sable are copyright 1990 by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. As far as I know, Satan's Vengeance XVII and Carnal Death VI are entirely fictitious and not even, as might be expected, direct parodies of any particular games.
