Author's Note: This is the first chapter of a new story. The characters will one by one come into play. Please do not insist on complaining about my use of religious titles for characters. These aren't my view of such deities, and if you just wait and read, it will all work out.

"Welcome," an ominous chuckle resounded, "to the Town.. . of Doom!"

Anja turned uncomfortably in her seat, trying to get a glare at her father through the rear view mirror. His schemes and shenanigans seemed to be getting worse every day since the divorce. And now this: moving to California. She made a mental note to check his meds.

"Seriously, Dad. Remind me again why we are moving someplace named 'Doomtown'?"

Her father fixed her with a look that screamed he was trying his hardest. "Honey, you know this is the only place they could transfer me this side of the Atlantic. Besides," he admitted with another guffaw, "I kind of like the name."

Rolling her eyes, Anja struggles with her headphone cord, turning to the iPod in her hands with all of the latest fashionable music: Paris Hilton, Gwen Steffani, the Black-Eyed Peas. Her earbuds tried futilely to keep out the bass of her father's blasting "Master of Puppets." She hated Metallica.

She glanced out her window just in time to seethe school she would be starting the next day, Monday. The marquee read "October 8" and "97 F" and every trindle in Anja's body had an easy time admitting it. Even in her air-conditioned Suburban, sweat streamed down her face. She could see wet beads on her father's forehead, his white knuckles plastered to the steering wheel. Obviously, they hadn't anticipated this heat.

Even over her tasteless tunes, Anja could feel the voice whisper inside her head.

Pitiful outsiders, it laughed softly.

(-doom-)

"No shit! Some new chick's come to little ol' Doomtown?"

Ant marveled at Avarice's disbelief. "Yes, you dip. Now get on with the worksheet! How many valence electrons are in Argon's outer shell?"

Avarice sighed. He hated Chemistry. He sucked at it. Ant knew this. So why did she insist on teaching it to him?

As if reading his mind (or the expression on his face) Ant answered, "Because you are going to pass this class if you want to graduate this year, you ignoramus. Now get you mind on the fucking paper! 'Tis due tomorrow."

Avarice stretched out on the couch in his living room. Sure, Ant had come over simply to help him with this, but still. "You know, for the Antichrist, you sure are good about keeping this shit in my face."

Ant would've hit him in the face with a fireball had God not walked in that very moment.

"Good news!" the fat metalhead yelled as he entered the door. "Avar! Ant! You gotta hear-" he stopped, realizing they were sitting right in front of him.

"Is she hot?" were the first three words out of Avarice's mouth. Ant rolled her eyes, setting a small flame to the worksheet she was holding. Avar didn't even notice.

"Eh, I've seen worse. A lot worse. She's not that bad, but, just between us three," God leaned in as if it were a secret. "I think she's a prep."

God seemed disappointed, but it didn't bother Avar and Ant a bit. She wouldn't be the first prep who moved to Doomtown, and she most certainly wouldn't be the last. El Jardin High School was already literally full of them.

That covered, Ant growled. "Can we get back to Avar passing High School this year now?" Her voice shook the room, one of the perks to being the Antichrist.

Avar and God didn't even notice. "We could've if you hadn't of burned my paper." Avar turned back to God. "I dated a cheerleader before, no problem."

"Fuck it!" Ant teleported herself away before she torched the room.

God looked at Avarice and shook his head. "Women."

(-doom-)

Anja glanced around her new room. It seemed so empty. Even with all of her furniture in place and her posters on the walls, it radiated forlorn. Like the words to a pathetic emo song, she sighed inside her mind. Once she got her computer and DSL up, maybe it would feel more like home.

Outside, a wailing siren rushed by with a wind that stirred the dead grass on either side of the road.

Okaaay, so maybe it would never be home. Anja wondered why anyone would want to live in a noisy little Californian city, far from any beeches. And why even call itself part of California? There was no way quaint little Doomtown could ever stack up to San Diego or San Francisco in her mind.

Not that either of those were her home either. Anja had to admit, with a sinking feeling, that Cali was a long way away from Wyoming.