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Description
I hate having someone knowing my thoughts all the time.  That’s just the way it is, being born on this world and being a werewolf.
Ted looked over at me.  He knew what I was thinking.  He gave me a scowl to let me know that The State disapproved.  When I smirked when I thought of “The State” and its controlling nature, I saw Ted scowl again.  He knew how much I hated control, our domestication.  While I certainly was a domesticated werewolf, I knew that the rest of this world was domesticated, just in a different way.  People went about, living their daily lives, using technology and magic as if the two were not diametrically opposed. I noticed Ted trying to turn his mind and attention away from mine, unable to control my thoughts anymore… I also knew that this was because he partly agreed.  The mind could control another mind, but it could not control itself.  If he agreed with my premises, Ted couldn’t stop my mind from flowing forth more thoughts.  I also felt Ted’s fear, knowing The State knew his mind, and, by proxy, knew mine.
Ted was my seventh Government Appointed Psion, or GAP.  I went through my first six in record time, and no, I didn’t tear any of them to bits…  At least, not their bodies.  You see, most lycanthropes aren’t all that smart.  Feral, yes, but intellect is usually pretty rare among people who, for the most part, despise technology, society, and all machinations of the world, including magic… Except for the magic of nature itself.  They love that shit.  Anyways, when you don’t read or communicate with other people, but prefer to converse with animals, you tend to miss something.  Yes, some of them are fuckin’ brilliant, the shamans and the like… but they’re watched just as closely as me.  They just don’t care.
Still, the ones out in the deep woods or the assholes in the cities that hate all humans and go around killing people give us all a bad name… Sure, part of me would love to fuckin’ feast on John’s guts… John.  He was psion number four.  But, yeah, I just don’t do that.  I know I couldn’t live with the consequences… Sure, things seem different when you’re all furry… Things look tastier, there’s an overwhelming desire to just…be free… and follow your instinct… I couldn’t help but lick my lips, and Ted coughed.  He was worried I might slip into what he called “a mood.”  He forced my mind to go back to what I was thinking of before, a typical psion maneuver.  Ted looked at me sternly, partially out of obligation and partially out of fear… He really didn’t trust me when I let my true self out… Ted concentrated more, and I felt myself relaxing, and my mind drifted back… What was I thinking of before?  Oh, yeah…
I don’t mean to sound overly judgmental about other lycanthropes, I mean, lots of people love living their lives covered in shit in the woods, that’s just not me. But, most of all, most people who live that way aren’t used to using reason or logic, and that’s what makes psionics tick…
Ted coughed again.  He didn’t like me thinking about the fact that I knew I could undermine his control over me.  But Ted was the first GAP I actually became friends with.  I think The State was tired of me burning out their best and brightest and turning them into near raving lunatics because they couldn’t handle my thoughts, which is why they allowed Ted to stay even though I could undermine his control.  Part of me wondered if Ted was controlling me to feel like he was my friend rather than it being a natural progression.
Ted turned to me with a hurt look.  “Val Gedso,” he used my full name, a habit I noticed most psions had.  I figured they used someone’s full name to gain more control over them; there was a sort of strength in pronouncing someone’s full name… It made them relive a lot of their history and baggage… Ted coughed again, knowing The State would not like the idea that I was beginning to learn psionics from him.  He continued, trying to put the thought out of his memory and mine.  God, Ted was good… He coughed again.  All psions had their twitch.  “That’s my worst fear, you know.”
“What?” I had already forgotten what I’d been thinking about before.
“That I unintentionally make people like me because of my psionic training.”
“…I never thought of it like that.”
Ted smirked, “In a sense, I’m as much of a freak as you, you know…”
I laughed, shifting in the leather chair by the window.  I lit a joint, taking a puff.  I guess that was one bonus of being a werewolf, The State lets you smoke to “cure your ailment.”  Assholes.
“You’ll never be THAT fucked up.  You’re far too ordered; you have no desire for freedom…”  I took another long draw of the noxious smoke, it made everything feel light, my anxieties melted away… My mind became muddled, but everything seemed simpler.  I ashed the joint, and took another pull, watching the thick, grayish-blue smoke curl towards the wooden ceiling.  At least this place they have me in now is nice; it has a cottage kind of feel to it… out in the woods… That had to be Ted, not me.  I looked over to Ted, and he spoke, as if on cue.
“How would you want to live, Val?  The State provides us with everything we need.  If I really wanted to, I bet I could appeal to The State for a license to smoke marijuana with you.  I bet you they’d give it to me.  They don’t want trouble, they want to give everything to everyone so they can deal with the real problems; you know we have enough of those!  Every world does.  Would you rather be out in the woods in Tasp, or in the technology driven world of Tuferu?  You could be.  In Tuferu, all your desires are taken care of and there are far less laws…”
“But most people won’t give up breathing natural air for the synthetic shit they use since there’s no plants there.  They’re technology central!  And how many times a day do you think I want to hear, “You could even get some cybernetic implants to keep you from changing…”  Fuckin’ no!  I won’t let them fuckin’ mutilate me in the name of mad fuckin’ science.  That shit is magic, you know.”  I took another pull and ashed my joint.  Ted was killing my buzz.
Ted sighed, “With you, everything is magic.  That figures, since you were born with a magical disease… Did you ever wonder how that affects your thinking?  Did you?”
“You of all people should know.”
Ted shook his head, knowing he’d laid his own trap.  “Still.  If you hate the control so much, go back to Tasp with your parents.”
“And live in fairy-magical world where nobody acknowledges any problems and just cares about their hedonistic fantasies?  Fuck that.  You know things are fucked up.  People have no fear of black magic, despite its sordid history for abuse and misuse.  People are fuckin’ gods!  How long do you think this can last?  How long until that’s not enough power?  What about The State?”
“Let’s not talk about The State.”
“Big Brother is watching.”
“You know that book was banned from this world.  It doesn’t exist, here.  Whoever pulled that book into this realm of existence was a madman.”
“Why should a book be banned?”
“It isn’t banned on Tasp or Tuferu.  Why do you stay on Trespen?”
“Because I’ve lived here my whole life, and as much as I hate it, I’d hate to become fuckin’ fodder in a world where everyone is trained totally different.”
“That’s right.  You’re domesticated.  Just accept it and move on.”
“You’re fuckin’ killing my buzz.”
“Think about it.  Your father is convicted of multiple murders of State personelle and he is allowed to live freely in the woods of Tasp.”
“It’s not murder if they’re still alive.  Anyways, you people took me as compensation.”  I took a long draw off my joint.  I guess Ted had decided this would become one of his “therapy” sessions.
“We took you because your parents were unfit to raise you.  They wanted to run free with their pack of murderous werewolves.  That was their decision.  And when you rip someone into bloody chunks, that’s murder.  They were clinically dead, you know.”
“For how long?  With technology, you die, your fuckin’ parts are ‘ported to a Med Center, and then you’re alive and well in a few minutes.  How long does it take for them to regrow a human being now?  Fifteen minutes?”
“Four hours.”
“Ooooh.  Four whole hours.”
“Four hours of being dead can feel like an eternity.”
“I wouldn’t know.  Never died.”
“Not all of us heal as fast as you do, you know.”
“…Lucky me?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“It doesn’t matter anyways; none of those people should have been in werewolf territory on Tasp.  You know that.  That’s their space.”
“Those people were unarmed and were merely conducting research.”
“I guess a psion wouldn’t understand the idea of privacy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oooh.  That’s right, Ted.”
“Why are you such an asshole?”
“It must be the beast in me.”
“Not all of us fear or hate lycanthropes, you know.”
“Yeah, some people even like blood-suckers and zombies.  But I know as well as you do that you do fear me.”
“At times.  But you’ve been afraid of me before, too.”
“I’m sorry, but ninth level psions are supposed to be able to mold a person’s conception of reality.  What the fuck was I supposed to feel?  Relaxed?”
“You know that’s just bullshit.”
“Do I?”
“STOP.”  Ted was very stern here.  I could feel his will forcing itself onto me.
“You hate when I ask questions.”
“No, I hate when you challenge my authority as your GAP.  This is my job.  This is my life.  As much as you hate having a sitter, if you’re going to live on this world, I’m responsible for you.”
“You’re not responsible for what I think.”
“What you think influences who you are.  Because of what you are and where you are, we can’t have you thinking certain ways.”
“Why do I always feel like I’m being experimented on?”
Ted paused, “Because you’re always being watched.”
“And why do you think I have such anxiety over being controlled?”
“…We could argue nurture versus nature all day.  Regardless, we can’t have a werewolf son of a murderous werewolf roaming around freely in the cities of Trespen.  Perhaps in the woods…”
“Yet The State trained me in combat?”
“You asked to be trained.  You were an ideal candidate… Exceptional strength, exceptional stamina…”
“Turns into a slavering monster when angered…”
“Well… yes.  That’s why The State doesn’t send you on any missions.”
“So you use me as a practice dummy.”
“Do you feel like a practice dummy?”
“I just feel…useless!”
Ted paused.  “…You’re incredibly bright.  You’re incredibly talented.  You’re strong, you have heightened senses, you heal quickly…”
“…And none of that counts for shit because I spend all my days reading books, talking to you, or practicing!  What the fuck is the point?”
“…You shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.  You’ve got it made.”
“I’ve got nothing but shit…” I could feel my wolf mind pressing up again.  I guess the pot had had the opposite effect… It does that sometimes, paranoia…I tried to calm myself.
“Most people would kill to have what you have.  In fact, lots of people do.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Val.  You’re a werewolf.  You’re going to be emotional.  That’s why I’m here... and also, because I’m your friend.  You know I do care about you, Val.”
“…Yeah.”
“Relax.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not like we’re being attacked by a horde of zombies or anything…”
“You say that every time.”
“…It’s happened to me before.”
I was quiet.  Ted did have a point.  I did have it made.  I lived like a king, but I was a prisoner of power.  I was well fed, well trained, well educated… I was taken care of by The State.  But everything always felt wrong.
They’d let me roam free in sectioned off newly-grown woods on full moons, with other lycanthropes.  They’d let us hunt live animals…deer, cattle, oxen… They’d let us indulge in our desires, light campfires… Yes, we can have fur and be civil.  It’s not like we’re totally different when our fur is out…  Just more… feral…instinctual.
Again, as if on cue, Ted spoke.  “Let’s watch the interlink.”
Ah, the media box… My mind wandered.  The images and sounds emitted from the computer station were soothing.  The screen was big.  The speakers were loud.  I was stoned.  It was full sensory immersion.  There were explosions and half-baked characters with character undertones representing their creator’s conception of the world.  There was subliminal messaging.  There was synthesized emotion for fictional characters.
Ted gave me an odd look.  “Just enjoy yourself.”
I knew it didn’t matter if I said it out loud or just thought it, so I opted to speak: “Brainwashing.”
“Bullshit.  It’s just entertainment.”
“You’re just playing devil’s advocate.  You’re a psion.  You know.”
“…Yes.  I know.  These are all pieces of artwork, which carry part of a person’s consciousness to the perceiver.”
“Mind control.”
“Art is not mind control.  You know, you’re sounding more and more like the werewolves on Tasp.  Do you want to live in a cave and eat raw meat all the time?”
“No.  And you’re right.  Art isn’t mind control.  I’m just cynical.”
“Relax.  You’ll feel better.”
Part of me screamed “You’ve relaxed enough!” but my mind felt soothed by the pot… I let the sea of the media wash over me.  Various images and sounds entertained my mind.  I was entreated to various discourses on what is virtuous and moral through the actions of various fictional characters, the soundtrack of the film, and the overall plot.  It was all very much a product of the device that produced it: the media box.  Who was it who said “The medium is the message?”
I forget.  It doesn’t matter, anyways…

Description
I hate having someone knowing my thoughts all the time.  That’s just the way it is, being born on this world and being a werewolf.
Ted looked over at me.  He knew what I was thinking.  He gave me a scowl to let me know that The State disapproved.  When I smirked when I thought of “The State” and its controlling nature, I saw Ted scowl again.  He knew how much I hated control, our domestication.  While I certainly was a domesticated werewolf, I knew that the rest of this world was domesticated, just in a different way.  People went about, living their daily lives, using technology and magic as if the two were not diametrically opposed. I noticed Ted trying to turn his mind and attention away from mine, unable to control my thoughts anymore… I also knew that this was because he partly agreed.  The mind could control another mind, but it could not control itself.  If he agreed with my premises, Ted couldn’t stop my mind from flowing forth more thoughts.  I also felt Ted’s fear, knowing The State knew his mind, and, by proxy, knew mine.
Ted was my seventh Government Appointed Psion, or GAP.  I went through my first six in record time, and no, I didn’t tear any of them to bits…  At least, not their bodies.  You see, most lycanthropes aren’t all that smart.  Feral, yes, but intellect is usually pretty rare among people who, for the most part, despise technology, society, and all machinations of the world, including magic… Except for the magic of nature itself.  They love that shit.  Anyways, when you don’t read or communicate with other people, but prefer to converse with animals, you tend to miss something.  Yes, some of them are fuckin’ brilliant, the shamans and the like… but they’re watched just as closely as me.  They just don’t care.
Still, the ones out in the deep woods or the assholes in the cities that hate all humans and go around killing people give us all a bad name… Sure, part of me would love to fuckin’ feast on John’s guts… John.  He was psion number four.  But, yeah, I just don’t do that.  I know I couldn’t live with the consequences… Sure, things seem different when you’re all furry… Things look tastier, there’s an overwhelming desire to just…be free… and follow your instinct… I couldn’t help but lick my lips, and Ted coughed.  He was worried I might slip into what he called “a mood.”  He forced my mind to go back to what I was thinking of before, a typical psion maneuver.  Ted looked at me sternly, partially out of obligation and partially out of fear… He really didn’t trust me when I let my true self out… Ted concentrated more, and I felt myself relaxing, and my mind drifted back… What was I thinking of before?  Oh, yeah…
I don’t mean to sound overly judgmental about other lycanthropes, I mean, lots of people love living their lives covered in shit in the woods, that’s just not me. But, most of all, most people who live that way aren’t used to using reason or logic, and that’s what makes psionics tick…
Ted coughed again.  He didn’t like me thinking about the fact that I knew I could undermine his control over me.  But Ted was the first GAP I actually became friends with.  I think The State was tired of me burning out their best and brightest and turning them into near raving lunatics because they couldn’t handle my thoughts, which is why they allowed Ted to stay even though I could undermine his control.  Part of me wondered if Ted was controlling me to feel like he was my friend rather than it being a natural progression.
Ted turned to me with a hurt look.  “Val Gedso,” he used my full name, a habit I noticed most psions had.  I figured they used someone’s full name to gain more control over them; there was a sort of strength in pronouncing someone’s full name… It made them relive a lot of their history and baggage… Ted coughed again, knowing The State would not like the idea that I was beginning to learn psionics from him.  He continued, trying to put the thought out of his memory and mine.  God, Ted was good… He coughed again.  All psions had their twitch.  “That’s my worst fear, you know.”
“What?” I had already forgotten what I’d been thinking about before.
“That I unintentionally make people like me because of my psionic training.”
“…I never thought of it like that.”
Ted smirked, “In a sense, I’m as much of a freak as you, you know…”
I laughed, shifting in the leather chair by the window.  I lit a joint, taking a puff.  I guess that was one bonus of being a werewolf, The State lets you smoke to “cure your ailment.”  Assholes.
“You’ll never be THAT fucked up.  You’re far too ordered; you have no desire for freedom…”  I took another long draw of the noxious smoke, it made everything feel light, my anxieties melted away… My mind became muddled, but everything seemed simpler.  I ashed the joint, and took another pull, watching the thick, grayish-blue smoke curl towards the wooden ceiling.  At least this place they have me in now is nice; it has a cottage kind of feel to it… out in the woods… That had to be Ted, not me.  I looked over to Ted, and he spoke, as if on cue.
“How would you want to live, Val?  The State provides us with everything we need.  If I really wanted to, I bet I could appeal to The State for a license to smoke marijuana with you.  I bet you they’d give it to me.  They don’t want trouble, they want to give everything to everyone so they can deal with the real problems; you know we have enough of those!  Every world does.  Would you rather be out in the woods in Tasp, or in the technology driven world of Tuferu?  You could be.  In Tuferu, all your desires are taken care of and there are far less laws…”
“But most people won’t give up breathing natural air for the synthetic shit they use since there’s no plants there.  They’re technology central!  And how many times a day do you think I want to hear, “You could even get some cybernetic implants to keep you from changing…”  Fuckin’ no!  I won’t let them fuckin’ mutilate me in the name of mad fuckin’ science.  That shit is magic, you know.”  I took another pull and ashed my joint.  Ted was killing my buzz.
Ted sighed, “With you, everything is magic.  That figures, since you were born with a magical disease… Did you ever wonder how that affects your thinking?  Did you?”
“You of all people should know.”
Ted shook his head, knowing he’d laid his own trap.  “Still.  If you hate the control so much, go back to Tasp with your parents.”
“And live in fairy-magical world where nobody acknowledges any problems and just cares about their hedonistic fantasies?  Fuck that.  You know things are fucked up.  People have no fear of black magic, despite its sordid history for abuse and misuse.  People are fuckin’ gods!  How long do you think this can last?  How long until that’s not enough power?  What about The State?”
“Let’s not talk about The State.”
“Big Brother is watching.”
“You know that book was banned from this world.  It doesn’t exist, here.  Whoever pulled that book into this realm of existence was a madman.”
“Why should a book be banned?”
“It isn’t banned on Tasp or Tuferu.  Why do you stay on Trespen?”
“Because I’ve lived here my whole life, and as much as I hate it, I’d hate to become fuckin’ fodder in a world where everyone is trained totally different.”
“That’s right.  You’re domesticated.  Just accept it and move on.”
“You’re fuckin’ killing my buzz.”
“Think about it.  Your father is convicted of multiple murders of State personelle and he is allowed to live freely in the woods of Tasp.”
“It’s not murder if they’re still alive.  Anyways, you people took me as compensation.”  I took a long draw off my joint.  I guess Ted had decided this would become one of his “therapy” sessions.
“We took you because your parents were unfit to raise you.  They wanted to run free with their pack of murderous werewolves.  That was their decision.  And when you rip someone into bloody chunks, that’s murder.  They were clinically dead, you know.”
“For how long?  With technology, you die, your fuckin’ parts are ‘ported to a Med Center, and then you’re alive and well in a few minutes.  How long does it take for them to regrow a human being now?  Fifteen minutes?”
“Four hours.”
“Ooooh.  Four whole hours.”
“Four hours of being dead can feel like an eternity.”
“I wouldn’t know.  Never died.”
“Not all of us heal as fast as you do, you know.”
“…Lucky me?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“It doesn’t matter anyways; none of those people should have been in werewolf territory on Tasp.  You know that.  That’s their space.”
“Those people were unarmed and were merely conducting research.”
“I guess a psion wouldn’t understand the idea of privacy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oooh.  That’s right, Ted.”
“Why are you such an asshole?”
“It must be the beast in me.”
“Not all of us fear or hate lycanthropes, you know.”
“Yeah, some people even like blood-suckers and zombies.  But I know as well as you do that you do fear me.”
“At times.  But you’ve been afraid of me before, too.”
“I’m sorry, but ninth level psions are supposed to be able to mold a person’s conception of reality.  What the fuck was I supposed to feel?  Relaxed?”
“You know that’s just bullshit.”
“Do I?”
“STOP.”  Ted was very stern here.  I could feel his will forcing itself onto me.
“You hate when I ask questions.”
“No, I hate when you challenge my authority as your GAP.  This is my job.  This is my life.  As much as you hate having a sitter, if you’re going to live on this world, I’m responsible for you.”
“You’re not responsible for what I think.”
“What you think influences who you are.  Because of what you are and where you are, we can’t have you thinking certain ways.”
“Why do I always feel like I’m being experimented on?”
Ted paused, “Because you’re always being watched.”
“And why do you think I have such anxiety over being controlled?”
“…We could argue nurture versus nature all day.  Regardless, we can’t have a werewolf son of a murderous werewolf roaming around freely in the cities of Trespen.  Perhaps in the woods…”
“Yet The State trained me in combat?”
“You asked to be trained.  You were an ideal candidate… Exceptional strength, exceptional stamina…”
“Turns into a slavering monster when angered…”
“Well… yes.  That’s why The State doesn’t send you on any missions.”
“So you use me as a practice dummy.”
“Do you feel like a practice dummy?”
“I just feel…useless!”
Ted paused.  “…You’re incredibly bright.  You’re incredibly talented.  You’re strong, you have heightened senses, you heal quickly…”
“…And none of that counts for shit because I spend all my days reading books, talking to you, or practicing!  What the fuck is the point?”
“…You shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.  You’ve got it made.”
“I’ve got nothing but shit…” I could feel my wolf mind pressing up again.  I guess the pot had had the opposite effect… It does that sometimes, paranoia…I tried to calm myself.
“Most people would kill to have what you have.  In fact, lots of people do.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Val.  You’re a werewolf.  You’re going to be emotional.  That’s why I’m here... and also, because I’m your friend.  You know I do care about you, Val.”
“…Yeah.”
“Relax.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not like we’re being attacked by a horde of zombies or anything…”
“You say that every time.”
“…It’s happened to me before.”
I was quiet.  Ted did have a point.  I did have it made.  I lived like a king, but I was a prisoner of power.  I was well fed, well trained, well educated… I was taken care of by The State.  But everything always felt wrong.
They’d let me roam free in sectioned off newly-grown woods on full moons, with other lycanthropes.  They’d let us hunt live animals…deer, cattle, oxen… They’d let us indulge in our desires, light campfires… Yes, we can have fur and be civil.  It’s not like we’re totally different when our fur is out…  Just more… feral…instinctual.
Again, as if on cue, Ted spoke.  “Let’s watch the interlink.”
Ah, the media box… My mind wandered.  The images and sounds emitted from the computer station were soothing.  The screen was big.  The speakers were loud.  I was stoned.  It was full sensory immersion.  There were explosions and half-baked characters with character undertones representing their creator’s conception of the world.  There was subliminal messaging.  There was synthesized emotion for fictional characters.
Ted gave me an odd look.  “Just enjoy yourself.”
I knew it didn’t matter if I said it out loud or just thought it, so I opted to speak: “Brainwashing.”
“Bullshit.  It’s just entertainment.”
“You’re just playing devil’s advocate.  You’re a psion.  You know.”
“…Yes.  I know.  These are all pieces of artwork, which carry part of a person’s consciousness to the perceiver.”
“Mind control.”
“Art is not mind control.  You know, you’re sounding more and more like the werewolves on Tasp.  Do you want to live in a cave and eat raw meat all the time?”
“No.  And you’re right.  Art isn’t mind control.  I’m just cynical.”
“Relax.  You’ll feel better.”
Part of me screamed “You’ve relaxed enough!” but my mind felt soothed by the pot… I let the sea of the media wash over me.  Various images and sounds entertained my mind.  I was entreated to various discourses on what is virtuous and moral through the actions of various fictional characters, the soundtrack of the film, and the overall plot.  It was all very much a product of the device that produced it: the media box.  Who was it who said “The medium is the message?”
I forget.  It doesn’t matter, anyways…