To wildly overextend your innocent metaphor, wouldn't God be more like the underlying logic that allows programming in general to work, or have I been chilling with the neo-platonist kids too much lately? :P Probably that, oops.
The only difference between the real world and SCW is ethnic politics in 1995 Ukraine. There's no way that could affect fundemental metaphysics of the universe (multiverse?) in any way. Same for physics, chemistry, and so on.
(It's interesting that you say God, since it only has monotheist characters so far: Muslims, Christians, and a Lingayat.)
My wild guess is that he's a firefighter -- they practice somewhere, no?
(Alas, the voltage story doesn't involve hilarious pratfalls, just having to return the part and get the right one. On the other hand, the time I assumed a big metal panel with handles at the bottom would have hinges at the top definitely was.)
This isn’t going to work. Yana sat down, backpack at her feet, head against the broken wall. She wanted to scream.
“Oh God and all the saints, go away. I’m still alive.”
YES, BUT IT FOLLOWS THAT WHEN YOU ARE CLOSE TO DEATH, I MUST THEREFORE BE CLOSE TO YOU. DON’T MIND ME, I HAVE A NEWSPAPER.
“Oh cool, are we winning?”
Death paused. EXCUSE ME, BUT WHO IS ‘WE’?
Yana shrugged. “Search me.”
There was a long silence.
“So, do I have to play you in chess or something?”
NO, I’M AFRAID EASTERN EUROPEANS ARE NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DO THAT AFTER LAST TIME, Death said a little sourly.
“Oh well, I’m not too hot at it anyway. You don’t happen to have a sandwich or something?”
I’M AFRAID NOT.
“Yeah, join the club. Hehehehe, get it, 'club?’” She straightened up. “Am I, uh, dying?”
“What the hell! I’ve barely seriously lost weight! What am I dying of?”
OF BEING ALIVE. OF HAVING BEEN BORN.
There was a short pause.
“That was low,” Yana said, sounding annoyed.
I’M SORRY, IT’S A GENETIC DISEASE. ALL HUMANS HAVE IT.
“How’s the death rate in Ukraine these days?”
I BEG YOUR PARDON?
“The death rate, bones. What is it? You of all people should keep up with that.”
ONE DEATH FOR EACH PERSON.
“Don’t quit your day job.”
Despite having only a skull to look puzzled with, Death managed it.
I AM MY JOB, MISS KORELENKO. THE END. THE FATE OF ALL THAT IS MORTAL. THE ULTIMATE CERTAINTY. THE ULTIMATE EQUALITY. UNLIKE TAXES, I COME TO EVERYONE.
“It’s just an expression, man.”
Gosh, excuse the shout-case and the totally inaccurate eclipse. There was a total solar eclipse that year but it was only visible over the south pole OH WELL. I have my artistic licence right here, officer. This was all office supplies aside from a white paint pen, btw.
Anyhow, my obsession with international law, from Grotius right down to the modern ICC and ICJ continues apace – here’s The (fictional) Dorkiest Nuremberg Trials Interpreter in her borrowed patchwork attempting-to-look-respectable clothes she wears in the courtroom.