A Fire Service Pantheon

"Kinda quiet today..."

"Whuuups! What did you say?."

"Whuh?"

"You angered the Gods. We're going to get our asses kicked now."

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High above, drifting on the ever-present layer of stratus, floats a row of thrones, constructed from broken bones, the mangled wreckage of cars and motorcycles, glucometers, fire alarms, and a thousand failed human hearts. Tonus, the God of Dispatch, rears back and lets loose a deep and mighty belly laugh. Leaning on his elbow, he had been combing the surface of the earth for a foolish and prideful firefighter to torment. He motions Meteoro, the God of Natural Disaster, to his side.

'Your bidding, Oh Great One?" Meteoro clasps Tonus' forearm with his damp and cold hand.

"Create a deluge, in this City, on that busy highway." Tonus points to our freeway, "At that curve," stroking his beard, chuckling, "I want to see the horseless wagons spinning."

'It shall be done!"

A piercing wolf whistle summons Gravita, the Goddess of Falls from her perch, mincing in her too-long gown. "Find the infirm, the lame, and play havoc with their walkers. I want broken hips. In the bathroom!"

"Of course, my Lord." She claps her hands above her head, sinking through the carpet of clouds, plummeting toward the planet below, with the falling rain.

Tonus yells down after her: "And look for humans on ladders, cleaning their gutters!" Craning to see around his celestial lair, his long white hair flying, he bellows, "Bubba!"

Bubba, the lesser God of Bad Judgement, rolls in on a unicycle, juggling bottles of high-gravity beer, catching the spraying drops of brew in his mouth. His eyes are red, and his bare feet work the wheel back and forth, idling before the God of Dispatch.

"Bubba, find some, ah, vulnerable, humans. Goad them into dangerous activity. You know, the usual."

"You betcha, boss!" Bubba downs a beer, springs off of the unicycle, and cartwheels out of sight.

The mighty and fearsome God, Tonus, leans forward eagerly, rubbing his huge palms together, watching the mayhem unsue.

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And so it goes... The Gods are easily offended. Unspoken, yet understood, rules govern our behavior in the station and on duty. Never boast about a quiet shift. Never laugh at another rig's number or type of calls. Before sitting down to a meal, it's good form to acknowledge the probability of the tones going off, if only silently. Go to bed, but don't expect to sleep.

It is widely believed that one can curry favor with the Gods by taking calls for other crews, but methinks it folly to endeavor to please such capricious beings. Regardless of personal spirituality, this magical thinking pervades the station, and no one is immune. At any moment, horrible disaster could occur; It's a way of preparing your self.