"Order!" 

Wethermore banged his gavel impatiently.

The Alpha of the Oslo pack from Norway was duking it out with his counterpart from the Bergen pack. What appeared to be the entire delegation from Australia was laying into the English packs like there was no tomorrow. Several dozen of the North American packs had formed an inseparable mess of arms and legs and blood-matted fur. Seat cushions, water bottles, bloodied teeth and half-baked insults were flying everywhere.

Meanwhile, in our corner of the chamber, we were battling to keep the two co-regents of the Quaking Tree pack as separate as possible, both of whom seemed intent on fighting to the death.

The only part of the room that still remained somewhat civilised was to the upper right, where the delegation from the Thunder Falls pack was sitting, along with the bureaucrats from Zirconia. They just watched as the chaos unfolded beneath them in a weirdly cathartic tableau.

As far as I knew, this was Alpha Adlai Betancourt's first-ever appearance in this chamber. His mousy brown hair, thin glasses and robust build suggested an accountant, or a nameless Zirconian bureaucrat, like the one sitting a few seats away from him. His muddy green eyes gave little away, but he didn't seem interested in the entertainment presented before him. He almost looked bored here; he bore the air of an introverted youngster waiting his turn in a playground full of noisy children.

In between the fighting, countless furtive glances were exchanged at him, this enigmatic and somewhat inscrutable person who most only knew from press photos and the odd rumour. The few times that Thunder Falls had attended Congress they had always sent representatives, usually Stevenson, whose exact rank and first name had never been divulged.

Stevenson was here too, whispering in Adlai's ear. His figure was gaunt and his head was shaved. He had on a black turtleneck, which looked very out of place in a chamber full of damaged three-piece suits of varying sombre shades.

But then something distracted him and for a moment our eyes met momentarily across the great hall, and we found ourselves staring at each other.

We had at most a few seconds of eye contact. But that was enough to make me look away after a few seconds.

There was nothing in those eyes. They were almost pure black. 

***

The Thunder Falls pack had always been somewhat of an anomaly. Set in a remote and part of the Highlands, and ringed on one side by the border with Zirconia and on the other by the Arrowhead River, it was about as inaccessible as it got, and that was somewhat of an achievement in a place where most roads turned to mud in heavy rain.

It was the perfect place for the legendary Arthur Sefton, he of the enormous white beard, to lead several hundred of his followers and set up his new pack in the early 1960s, after running afoul of his old one for creating a schism regarding the legitimacy of the Alpha. In his new, isolated home, he became infamous for paranoia-fuelled radio broadcasts and frequent border skirmishes with Zirconian forces.

Sefton had never been the most level-headed person ever, and he had become increasingly unstable over the years. When he did pass in early 1980, he had left no will, and his increasing senility in his last years meant his choice of successor was ambiguous to put it mildly. But most were certain that his choice would have been Grayson Betancourt.

The Betancourt family had been one of the most prominent of the families who had followed Sefton to his new pack, according to one of the more reputable publications regarding the history of Thunder Falls. The patriarch Julio had placed great hopes on the shoulders of his children: Adlai had headed off to medical school, in preparation for a career as a pack doctor, while Grayson was well on the way of becoming Alpha.

Then, three days before he was to be crowned Alpha of the Thunder Falls pack, Grayson had been killed in a skirmish with Zirconian border guards. A valiant death, by all accounts. Adlai was immediately recalled from medical school.

Nobody had ever been able to work out the exact events of what had happened afterwards. All we knew was that one by one, the loyal old guard that Sefton had cultivated had been slowly but surely picked off. One of them was found by Zirconians in an impenetrable part of the Highlands on their side of the border, his decomposing body strapped in the fuselage of a crashed Cessna. The watch of another washed up several years later on the banks of the Arrowhead. Most of them were simply never heard from again.

This overwhelming air of secrecy had bred some incredible rumours about Adlai; that he travelled at all times with a three-piece band, as he abhorred recorded music. That he shifted into an enormous black wolf, and that his first shift had occurred at age eight. That he had never found a mate, and he never intended to.

While knowledge of Adlai was scant, information on Stevenson was even scarcer. Even his first name was a mystery. All we knew was that he had been a rising through the ranks quite rapidly in the twilight of the Sefton days, and in the years afterwards he had somehow worked his way up to becoming Adlai's right-hand man and stand-in at most public events. It was widely theorised that he had helped Adlai in the power struggle after Sefton's death, and his current position was his reward.

But that was all hearsay, mostly rumours from people who had claimed to have escaped. But then Zirconia was rife with people levelling unsubstantiated accusations about their predicaments at the hands of alphas, so the efficacy of these claims was debatable. None of us knew for certain very little of what was going on in Thunder Falls, even the people who lived in the adjoining packs. Few people were allowed in, and any journalists who dared to broach the cone of silence either changed subject or started spouting surprisingly effusive praise. 

***

I noticed in the chaos that Kaden was nowhere to be seen. Where the Salmon Creek pack delegation usually was, there were two people I'd never seen before, sitting stock-still, looking like they were scared shitless at the carnage unfolding around them.

I nudged Brian, momentarily distracting him from his task of trying to keep Mason immobile.

"What the hell?" He put on more pressure as Mason tried to break free, as Reid yelled expletive after goading expletive. Mason's wildly mobile elbow caught him in his ribs. "Ow. Fuck."

I pointed in the general direction of where the two delegates from Salmon Creek were sitting. "Who are they?"

"They're Ronan and Rain. Pack doctor and chief warrior."

I nodded.

"Order!" Wethermore's voice was more strident this time round, and he banged the gavel impatiently.

Tobias Wethermore struck an imposing figure on the chairman's podium, with an intensity that belied his wiry frame. The lone ruler of the ... Pack for over thirty years, his beta and Luna both taken early by fate, he was well respected by all.

Meanwhile down in the sheol that was the lower regions of the chamber, Thurgood, Brian, Jack and I had the two co-regents of the Quaking Tree pack restrained as best as we could manage, for the moment at least. He was struggling so hard that he was starting to tear apart the seams of his clothes, and his eyes flashed yellow with each laboured extertion. Jack, and a bunch of other Alphas had Mason pinned down.

With an almighty show of force that practically disintegrated the entire left side of his suit, Reid finally broke free and managed to land one more punch on his brother with a bloodied fist, sending him sprawling backwards, before we could drag him back again.

"ORDER!" Wethermore yelled, even louder, to no avail.

The gavel-banging intensified.

There was a crack as the head of the gavel snapped off and flew to who-knew-where, somewhere in the middle of the chamber, the noise reverberating like a gunshot through the expansive chamber.

Almost in an instant, room fell silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

Wethermore drove the jagged stick that remained into the surface of the sounding board. "That was disgraceful. Utterly disgraceful. I will not tolerate you behaving like spoiled children in this chamber. Back to your seats, gentlemen." he enunciated every word with great force.

There was a quiet noise as everyone shuffled to their seats, clutching on to the little dignity they had left.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Muttering an excuse, I exited the chamber. 

***

I stood in the deserted foyer. The sounds of the chamber were echoing through the space. Someone had messed up the acoustics.

"Hello- Oh it's you, Catriona."

"Congress is in session, I'm guessing. Am I right?"

"Yep. I'm currently right outside a large room filled with several hundred man-children, and it's not pretty."

"How's it going?"

"Nobody's has been killed. In other words, so far so good."

"Well, that's... good. I called to tell you I've postponed my trip slightly. I'm waiting for things to die down a bit. I'll be arriving the day after full moon."

"Good call. Everything's in lockdown since the attack. You've never seen

"No, it wasn't that.

"It's not like it's not like political discourse is much different here. You should have seen the consultation meetings for the Cross River Rail project here. NIMBYs are crazy."

"NIMBY?"

"NIMBY. Not In My Back Yard. In other words, most of the population of inner-city Corviston."

"Do they even have backyards?"

"Well, you know the type. Old Town hipster types who are convinced that having a train tunnel thirty metres under their neighbourhood will drastically ruin the ambience of their renovated loft apartment."

Through the wall, the ruckus seemed to have come back full force. Someone must have set it off again.

"Anyway, I need to get back into the fray, before someone actually dies or something. See you soon."

"See you."

***

I returned to the chamber of horrors to find Wethermore in the middle of an address.

"And may we welcome Mr Betancourt to the stage."

There was a light smattering of applause, and many jeers and animal noises lower down in the chamber, but they died away as Adlai took to the stage.

He seemed to spread himself over the podium, rather than seemingly hover over it as the wiry Wethermore did. Giggles erupted down below. They died away quickly

"Chairman Wethermore. Ladies and gentlemen. Alphas and Betas of all packs. It is my honour to address this sitting of the Thirty-Fourth Annual Congress of the Organisation of Pan-Lycan Unity."

For many of us this was the first time we had ever heard him speak live. His voice was clear, but it did have a slight but pronounced lisp.

"I extend my deepest sympathies with those affected by the senseless act of violence that took place earlier this week at the Granite Peak pack. We do not yet know the full details of the attacks, nor have we definitely ascertained the identity of the attackers. But fingers are being pointed. Pointed at a very prominent minority in our broader community.

The screen behind him flicked on. A wolf pup. Matted fur, sad eyes, standing in squalor.

The last sniggers and whispers had died out.

"Rogues. The packless, homeless, the outcasts of our society. Many of us rely on them for our livelihoods, yet we barely interact with them, and we hold onto exaggerated stereotypes about their behaviour. We blame them for many issues, yet we ignore theirs."

A graph appeared on the projection screen behind him. A jagged line rising upwards.

"As you can see, the population of non-affiliated wolves is set to increase significantly in the next few years. Currently, rogues form 30% of the population of the Independent Territories. In 20 years this will increase to 45%. By 2045 we will be in the minority."

Another graph, a pie chart.

"The rogue population are no longer the scattered outcasts they were historically, and that many of us still erroneously think them to be. Over 80% have never known what pack life is like. While most live in poverty, some of them are millionaires. Our economy depends on them. They are very much a rising force in our society, and they have far more influence than most of you will ever give credit for."

Adlai pushed on. "We cannot continue to marginalise them and hope for the best. There is no way we can ignore this problem anymore like we have for the past few decades. They have a voice, and even if they are not confident of using it now, given the trends I have seen on the street, something will give sooner or later. If our packs are to have a future, we must act now or face the consequences."

The slide changed again. This time to a rendering of the supercentre I had witnessed the day before in Copenhagen town.

There was a moment of confusion in the chamber, then shock as what he was trying to suggest sunk in. Nobody had ever suggested something like this, ever. Noises were made. There were boos and hollers and shouts.

"I believe we, the Thunder Falls pack, are in an unique position to offer help in this regard. We have considerable experience in reaching out to non-affiliated wolves."

There were some more graphs and pictures. Happy people with Thunder Falls products. A seller pushing her cart.

"Over the past decade, Thunder Falls has led the way in empowering non-affiliated informal settlements. Through our direct selling strategy we have greatly boosted the wellbeing of these people, and, more importantly-"

"How can you reconcile with savages? Bloodlust is all they know. There is no reasoning with them." The person who yelled this was Ryder, from lower down in the chamber.

"In my experience such ideas are but rash generalisations," Adlai replied, without raising his voice.

"They were banished for a reason." Ryder stood his ground.

Adlai remained unflustered. "Where are you trying to go with this line of logic? Who will work in your factories? Who will do the dirty jobs you don't want to do? We can build fences and checkpoints and increase security. But as we have seen in conflicts worldwide, containment is not a permanent solution. In the long run it will only exarcerbate tensions and increase the problem."

Nobody uttered a word. Just the ambient slurping noise of wounds healing.

"I propose that our only reach out to the rogue community, that we push for reconciliation. We must build bridges, not burn them. This will not be a small effort, and I do not expect it to be a small effort. Everyone will have to contribute. As I have said, we have ignored these problems for too long. These are changing times, and uneasy decisions will have to be made. If we do not act soon, it will be too late. And these senseless acts of violence we have witnessed in this present will pale in comparison for what will come."