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You'd think being a werewolf would be easy. Change on three nights every month, maul a few people, be the big, hairy boss amongst the flock. You'll probably die a violent, early death, but at least you'll have a sweet deal going up until then, right? And hey, it's not like you can control it. The beast gets what it wants, and you're either along for the ride or unconscious for the whole ordeal. So you won't even feel the silver bullets ripping into you because by the time you wake up, you'll be numb from the shock and on your way to judgment. Simple enough, right?

Wrong. Because all of that is false. Untrue. Fable. Myth. A lie. You don't change just on the night of the full moon. You do it whenever you like, or when you're stressed. The full moon does tend to arouse the wild animal inside you, but then what normal person can't say the same thing? I know plenty of "non-cursed" people who love a full moon as much as I do. There's still a chance of violent death, yet it doesn't usually end in tragedy. From the stories my Alpha's told me, lots of our kind have actually died as heroes. And the real reason for that is because we _can_control the wolf, and we _are_conscious for everything. Which means you _do_feel the bullets ripping into you before you die, even if they're not silver. And although silver is the only thing that can slow our rapid healing, I can testify that taking enough bullet wounds, no matter the material, will kill even the biggest, toughest werewolf in the world. Still, we take great pride in the fact that it takes nothing less than precision marksmanship or a wall of flying lead to take us down. We're tough, we're strong, and we're not about to let the world forget it.

All this makes the life of a werewolf much more complicated. Especially the fact that you're as much in control of your actions as the average human. If we were anything like Hollywood says, we could at least get someone to chain us up every month and provide a cow or two to slaughter so we don't go hungry. Even with magic involved, you've got to get energy and protein from somewhere. A few dozen fast-food burgers and the largest shake on the menu usually does the trick. If they could figure out a way to make their food squeal a little when bit, they'd have a very loyal clientèle.

Unfortunately for me, I assumed all that Hollyweird stuff was true. All of it. I always admired the strength and wild nature of werewolves, but the idea of losing myself and becoming a monster never did appeal to me. I was born and raised a Christian, and the Bible has a lot to say about killing and eating other people, whether you're in control of yourself or not. And let's face it: there isn't a lot of werewolf stuff out there that doesn't portray them as evil, savage killing machines. At least nothing professional. There's a lot of amateur fiction online, if you know where to find it, but a lot of it tends to be pornographic in nature. Were it not for a very wise man in my life, I might have stumbled into that trap. As it is, I just find it boring now. Yes, yes, we all know about the "passion of the moon" and all that. But frankly, why should werewolves be any hornier than normal human beings? After all, wolves themselves only mate about once a year, while humans can do it just about any time of day and in all forms of consciousness. I guess there's just something kinky about screwing a person with fur and enough muscle strength to rend you limb from limb. Some women like that kind of thing. Go figure.

Back to my main point, I was rather unprepared for what would happen when a rather large and intimidating wolf bit my hand one night. It was really all my fault. He gave all the warning signs, but I just wouldn't listen. For all my love of werewolves, I never really studied wolves themselves, so I had no idea what I was doing was dangerous. So, he had to teach me a lesson. After the bite and a bit of snarling, he managed to convince me to "de-ass the area with all speed". Which I did. And I admit, I may have cried. At least the others in the pack had the sense to guide me to safety, dogging my heels from all sides and keeping me from going down the wrong paths. It was only much later, as a very different man, that I found out just how close to death I'd been that night. And how they'd kept me from it. As it was, I ended up at a Ranger's station, far from the campsite my family had pitched, yet safe and warm. My wound got treated, I got scared straight (and a change of underpants), and spent the rest of the vacation staying very close to the camp. Only when I got home did I notice the wound had pretty much disappeared. I still have the scar, though it's hard to see. Just on the outside of my right hand, where he bit me. At the time, I really thought nothing of it. But that changed real soon.

There were other signs pointing to the reality of what had happened. My appetite increased about ten-fold. My family thought it was normal, since I was going through puberty. Then I started being more aggressive and got into a couple fights, though nobody picked one with me twice. Again, it was written off as a teenager's rebellion. I picked up the habit of running everywhere, even to and from school every day; despite the heavy load of books and the miles between my house and there, I just loved to run. They thought I was eccentric. Then I finally put my fist through a brick wall when some high school jocks decided to play "freak beatdown" with me. I didn't even break a bone, though I sprained my wrist thanks to bad form. I got a lecture, more than a few looks of alarm and a full physical to find out what the heck was going on. I already suspected what was happening, but I didn't know who to talk to. If I told my family I thought I was turning into a werewolf, they'd think I was crazy. They only exist in fiction, and only my little sister had similar interests to mine. Worse yet, what if they believed me? There was no evidence that werewolves, the real ones, were any different than the blood-crazed monsters in the movies. I was scared out of my mind that I was turning into one of those, which is why I got into so many fights. I was so twitchy and stressed that I barely made passing grades at school. The bullies picked up on it quick, but they soon learned to leave me alone. The only kids who seemed to like me were the various "outcast" cliques, who went out of their way to help me stay sane, even though I never fit in with any of them. Even so, I couldn't help but have nightmares of turning on my family or being on the run the rest of my life, all over the country if not the world, doomed to a lonely life of savagery and blood lust. So you can imagine how difficult it was to let the doctor do his tests on me and _not_freak out. Test after test had me holding my breath, wondering if or when the doctor would say, "Werewolf" and call the National Guard. Toward the end, I realized it was worse than that: the guy had no clue what was wrong with me. And if there's one thing almost every doctor dreams of, it's finding a new disease to name after themselves. I had a one-way ticket to some far away medical lab of the CDC, and each new and abnormal test result brought the doctor much closer to packing me up for the flight.

I thank God every day that Charlie showed up.

Charlie is the Alpha of Stephen, the guy who bit me. We're friends now, but at the time we didn't get along much. Call it bitterness over having my life turned upside-down. In any case, Charlie was smart. After having his pack guide me to safety, they kept a careful watch on me until my family went home. Then they kept their ears open to gossip in town, listening for signs that I'd been infected. They were about to write me off as just another carrier when I got jumped by the high schoolers. You don't put your fist through a brick wall without it getting around. If my parents hadn't brought me in right away, I would've been swamped by reporters. Charlie recognized it as the turning point, and he knew that I'd end up changing soon, especially with all the stress I was under. He had to get me into his custody and fast, or the whole world would know their secret. There was a movement to "come out of the woods" at the time, but some new pup infected by accident could shipwreck the whole plan. They had to expose themselves on their terms, and I wasn't going to help much if I sprouted a tail on the exam table. So they swooped in with some official-looking documents, rounded up my family and me, and took us to Charlie's house to explain things.

Long story short, I ended up joining Charlie's pack despite my parents' protests. There was just no way around it. The town was their territory, and there wasn't anyone else who knew enough about werewolves who could help me. Just getting it across that I _wasn't_going to turn into a monster was hard enough. I saw it as a relief, but my parents had a harder time accepting it. But in the end, mom and dad consented, signing the form that gave Charlie protective custody over me. They still had visitation rights, and everyone in the family came to see me as often as they could, but only under the supervision of the pack. It was more for their safety than mine. My first lesson was learning to control myself, and until I did it was safer for me to be watched. It got hard at times, I won't lie about that. My poor mother cried the first time she left me, and almost every time after that. She got better as time went on, but it was real hard on her. Took me a while to forgive Charlie for that. It takes everyone a while to forgive him for doing the right thing. I wish it hadn't happened the way it did, yet I'm grateful it was his pack I ended up in. I've met my share of Alphas who were just as strict but not as kind or merciful. And at least my family has grown to love the pack over the years, even if they are a little wild for their tastes. Some of our members don't get to have that.

But I'm not here to regale you with my back-story, Senator. You know it as well as anyone else. I just get carried away sometimes; Charlie calls it the "Storyteller's Curse". And you all know very well how we came out and let the world know we're real. And how Charlie held me up as an example of how they were responsible with their mistakes and made sure any accidental additions wound up as stellar members of society. I know many of you admire and respect him as much as me, though most of you dislike him for his disregard for societal norms. That said, I must ask you to put aside whatever grudges, arguments and disagreements you may have with him, myself and our pack. I'm here today for something very important.

You see, a lot of the Alphas have been paying attention to world events. They always have, seeing as it was essential to survival since the first werewolf came into existence. And lately, many of them have been uneasy with what they see. Charlie himself is convinced this country, and much of the world, is headed for dark times. Yes, I know you think it's a bit alarmist to put it in those terms, but you don't know him like I do. Charlie isn't one to say bad things if he thinks it'll be a detriment to morale. But if something big is coming up that could affect the whole pack, he let's us know, and insists we stay alert. Right now, he and the Alphas are discussing things, but I can tell you right now they've already concluded one thing: we're doomed to be hit, and hit hard. This country will be broken and God alone knows what will follow. Judging by history, a lot of it will be bloodshed and anarchy, with a lot of innocent people caught in the crossfire. Charlie is pretty much convinced it's a matter of when, not if, though he's supportive of any efforts to delay that collapse. We need time to prepare. And part of those preparations is my trip here to see you, Senator. You see, Charlie has an idea and it has widespread support among the Alphas. He believes God has uniquely prepared us for this dark time. The government cannot promise to protect the people from the chaos ahead, not without first becoming a tyrant that they must overthrow. And once the tyrant is gone, who's left to clean up the mess?

I am here, Senator, to offer you a unique opportunity. We werewolves can't propose this idea; it would seem like a power grab. We need someone who's been opposed to werewolves, someone who has been at odds with us politically, to come out and be the voice of reason. You are that man. You don't outright hate us like some of your fellow Senators, yet you have been opposed to some of the legislation and ideas brought forth by our allies and supporters. And it has always been because you simply mistrust us and want to make sure we don't become a danger. You've never pushed for us to become sub-standard citizens. We both know you're just worried our less ethical members will take advantage of any loophole you give them. And you are correct on that. Charlie put me in charge of cracking down on troublemakers ever since he became a Senior Alpha, and it has been one headache after another. You've no idea how hard it's been to avoid an incident that would ensure we become slaves or outlaws in this country. If the more peaceful Muslims were in control of the Middle East, I'm sure they'd be able to empathize with my position.

Yes, I realize it's not very encouraging. And you still distrust us. I'm fine with that. Really. We need someone to poke and test us without being unreasonable. So far, you've done a lot of work to keep the unreasonable people on your side in check, much as I have. So we have a lot in common. Despite that, all I can ask is that you listen to our proposal before agreeing to support it. You don't have much to risk by just listening to me, do you? Yeah, I thought not. Okay, here goes.

The fact is, this country was headed for chaos and anarchy since it was born. All great nations are. It's merely a matter of time and how well they avoid corruption in the system. Even though I believe this is the best place in the world to raise my kids (I have one on the way already), I know it is not perfect, nor can it last forever. One day, we will fall, and we must be ready for that day. That is why, Senator, as a representative of all werewolves in this great nation, I must ask you to propose legislation recognizing all packs as official private militia. Yes, I know it's controversial. We wouldn't be asking if we didn't feel it was important. _I_would not be asking if I didn't feel that way. And we are willing to risk whatever political fallout comes of this to secure the future of the people living in this country. Many conservative citizens, especially several members of the NRA, have already formed their own militias within the past few years, mostly for fear of Muslim or Communist invasion. Some plan to be guerrilla fighters if the government becomes too controlling, but most simply wish to safeguard their towns, their families and whatever little chunks of their country that they can. The packs would like to do the same, and although we don't intend to be listed on any sort of government registry, this legislation would give us the authority we need to round up and protect any wayward souls that get caught in the anarchy. If nothing else, you could make us part of the National Guard, though I expect we'd become turncoats if Uncle Sam became a "comrade" of Stalin, Mao and Kim Jong-Il. Trust me, we're fiercely independent and intend to stay that way, even if we become outlaws. The biker gangs respect us enough that we could blend in with them and never look back. But Charlie and many others don't want that to happen.

We're standing at a very dangerous place right now, Senator. The werewolves want to help, yet we don't dare make a move that might spark a civil war. It is not our wish to take over, at least not for the majority, nor do we want to risk an outright war. It would take too long and cost too many lives, and I doubt you or anyone else wants a guerrilla war on American soil. To end it would require such bloodshed as to inspire the rest of the country to pick up arms, provided you even got that far before the match hit the gasoline. All we want is to be able to save those weaker than ourselves, to protect the people when the leaders of this country lose either the ability or the will to do so. I, for one, still love my family, even if they're not werewolves and I have to be careful not to hurt them. My strength is still a danger to them, and I long for the day that I can use it to _protect_them, when I won't have to hold back. That day may be coming soon, and it would be a relief to know I'm not going to be fed to the wolves for doing it. Yes, I'm aware of the irony. It's a figure of speech.

I cannot ask more of you than I already have. You've heard my proposal. I don't expect an answer right this minute. In fact, I would prefer you take as much time as possible to consider it before answering. Take a month, if you like. Take a whole year, if you need. But please don't put this off, Senator. You have need of us, even if you're sore to admit it. And we desperately wish to offer you our strength, more so than we already have. We want to save these people from whatever comes our way. We only ask that we are allowed to do it with your blessing, if not the blessing of your successors. It will be much easier to do things if we can get a head start on them now, without the need to sneak about while we do it.

Thank you for your time, Senator. I'll leave my number with your secretary. Contact me as soon as you've reached a decision. I wait with baited breath. So to speak. Good day.