FSE

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Out in the vastness of space, a chunk of matter flew across the galaxy passing solar system after solar system. It glistened in various cool colours each time it reflected light from a nearby star. The asymmetrical crystaline shard of Hepharium, a substance yet unknown to Gaia's civilization, had, after eons of purposeless motion, traversed into the one solar system pertinent to all known life; that is ours. What was about to occur could be aptly described as near-impossible given its unprobability, or alternatively be deemed inevitable given that all low chances provided enough time and attempts become prophecy. After all, mere chemicals bonding into cellular organisms is unlikely, but several million years did the job, did it not? And so, this Hepharium did the unthinkable; it hit the Sun dead on. The star, however, would not accept an injection of such foreign material. The heat and fission were overwhelming even to this substance and so it more than vapourized; it exploded and turned into pure, hyperactive plasma unbound. The star's gravity could not contain this novel phenomenon and so thousands of particles of Hepharium radiation were flung in the direction of the neighbouring celestial bodies. Including our precious Gaia -Earth- where this story unfolds.

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It was a gorgeous time of the year to sit in the park; being mid-spring all the trees has sprouted new leaves -the deciduous trees, the evergreens never lost their green- and the caretakers had planted seas of flowers all over the tranquil refuge. On a bench, under a willow, sat one grey lupine fellow aged 22, legs crossed, wearing standard jeans and a knee-length longcoat with a simple green sweater underneath. Were he standing, he'd measure 5'7'', falling short of his specie average but alas he was too engrossed in a book to stand or pay attention to his surroundings.

'What is commonly referred to as "root causes" of crime has statistically suprisingly little to do with crime. The only people who have deluded themselves into believing this religiously are the (largely atheistic) sociologists, but not experienced criminologists, law theorists, police veterans both retired and still in service, and not any statisticians worth their salt. No one, it should be stressed, no one denies that poverty, the major "root cause" being touted, provides incentives to commit crime for the sake of short-term personal gain for that would be absurd. But to provide someone with the initial reason to potentially act in a given way is orders of magnitude different from actually inducing such action. It is worthy of note that criminal trends very often do not align with poverty trends, neither in sync nor intertemporally; that is, there is no parallel nature to the curves precluding the possibility of a time-lag effect. More curiously, if we reach back into the data from the former United Provinces of America before its disolution, we find that in the 20th century its theft rates reached close to their lowest during the Great Depression and skyrocketed once the economy recovered. Then they declined steadily before resurging again, partly explaining the resurgence of right-wing parties given the conservative brain's lesser tolerance of societal uncertainty and danger. Whilst the reasons for the crime rates during the Depression are intriguing, they are beyond the scope of this book, which will focus on the structural changes in the application of legal procedures that unbalance the-'

An electric shock seized Wilbur in his entirety, causing his muscles to contract paralytically and flashes of turqoise lights danced across his vision in a kaleidoscope of disorientation. To him, this assault of unknown nature may very well have lasted several minutes, but in reality had transpires over a fraction of a second. When he recovered his breath, he decided that perhaps it would be best to return to his apartment and rest whilst drinking some tea. 'Maybe I'll check into the doctor's clinic tomorrow if it happens again.' he thought worriedly. However, even as he walked, he found himself feeling better than ever before with a spring in his bones and muscles and a surreal surge of energy in his veins.

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"123... 124... 125!" he counted out loud as he raised the bar one last time over his head. Terrence loved to lift every other night and it showed in the 2450 pound bar he'd just finished with. He laid there on the bench, glad in his own laurels for beating his personal record, when suddenly heat surged through his body, burning him on the inside. As in Wilbur's case, it lasted a mere moment, and yet managed to leave the young titan breathless. He shook it ooff but promptly decided that he'd pushed it a little hard today. When he stood up, he rhinoceros towered over the other gym-goers (as sparse as they were at this time of the day) at 8'5'' and 1300 pounds, putting even most of his own kind to shame. Thick set, with a very slim layer of fat that hid his muscles'' outlines though not his bulk; his arms alone were as thick as the chest of a grown human to say nothing of his enormous chest and legs and an unbreakable neck. When he walked, the floor around him vibrated despite his relatively gentle steps, and the one new gym member looked at him terrified. It didn't feel good that most on the street would give him a wide berth, but it was well worth it to keep-

*ring ring* *ring ring* *ri-*

"Hey pa. Yes I'm doing good, just finished actually. Sure, I'll just get changed and I'll be right there." he assured in a smooth baritone voice as deep as the Mariana Trench. You'd be hard pressed to belive that this lad was actually only 20 years old. "Oh the work out was great, as always, and yes I am starving, like I ever said otherwi- say again? Made what!? Leave some for me!"

Once out of the gym, he was dressed in badly beaten, formerly camo, cargo pants and with a red shirt visible throught the two holes in his navy blue hoodie's torso, but nonetheless with a beaming smile on his face. He could already taste his mother's mixed vegetable stew and was so engrossed in his imaginary culinary delight, he failed to notice the lack of burning or aching in his muscles that usually followed a workout.

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Janira fell into bed exhausted after stripping off that ludicrous viking outfit her brothers made her wear for this convention of theirs. It was rare she lost a bet but it wasn't all that horrible. The lioness strictly enjoyed the attention she got, though not when an overconfident, that is drunk, loser would occasionally try to silver tongue her into their room. But a well placed kick tended to solve that problem. Her brothers had indoctrinated her into tabletop fantasy role playing games and paid for their little sister's overzealous desire to be a shieldmaiden by paying for her self defence lessons. Whilst she grew out of pretending to be shieldmaiden, her decade-long regimen had kept her capable of handling a variety of threats (no, drunk convention nerds aren't threats) and fit. Yet now, she just felt a desire to fall asleep.

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Theadus, a healthy middle-aged stag who worked as a historian of the occult, swam in his dreams. A myriad symbols and insigniae danced to his tunes and as they swirled his environment changed accordingly.

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Sheila's dream had the sheep dashing through the streets of their city, dragging the very light behind her.

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Terrence stood resolute as he won each challange in the Strongman competition with ease.

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Wilbur radiated a luminescent aura of greenish blue -turqoise- and just as a car was about to crash into him, he held up his paw and the car crashed into something else. Something new.