He’d put in the hours, somehow (had he? he couldn’t remember), and so they were making Alexander Hammil the god of protection from very small earthquakes.
“There must be some mistake,” he told the whirling cloud of impenetrable blackness that was processing his application. “I don’t even think I applied.”
“No mistake,” it said. It had the voice of a two year old he’d known very slightly six years ago. “You’ve been nominated by the necessary thirteen souls. Everyone was very complimentary.”
“This still can’t be right.”
“You’ll do fine. Now, it may take up to 72 hours before your godhood fully manifests, but in the meantime I’ve set you up with the standard invulnerability package, so that’s nice. If you have any questions, just call the number inscribed in the stygian depths of your soul, and we’ll assist you any way we can. Congratulations, and welcome to the pantheon!”
“Wait—” he started, but it was already gone. The building shook and his girlfriend, still asleep, turned and nuzzled into his chest.