Whipping Back Into Action

Prelude – Mist, Walls, and an Invitation

It was a foggy Wednesday morning.
A postbus wound its way up the mountain along the winding country road, its post horn sounding every other harsh bend to alarm oncoming traffic of its presence.
You've always liked looking out the window and gawking at the landscape while riding the bus. It's a bummer that the weather decided to be grey this morning.
Instead of seeing the Alps in their usual morning glow, you saw a pale, purple ermine visage in the windows reflection lazily looking back at you.
Its narrow, maroon-coloured eyes were mocking you...
A testament to what became of you six weeks ago.
You dwelt on your reflection for another few seconds, watching your yellow-tipped whiskers gently oscillating with the movement of the postbus.
The post horn sounded and everyone and everything shifted to the right as the bus was turning left. The fog behind the window gave way to the grey retaining wall.

You let out a quiet sigh and looked down at the letter sitting on your lap.
However, your legs were the focus of your attention.
They were now too short to reach the floor. Instead, they dangled like children's legs just beyond the edge of the chair.
You used to be a proud two metres tall, but now you measured a measly 147 centimetres.
You loathed your newfound dwarfism the most.
As the experience wasn't dehumanising enough, your feet certainly added insult to injury.
Each foot was adorned by three long claws, sharp enough to tear through a bag, or a duvet while sleeping.
You forced your eyes away from your grotesque form, back to the letter in your lap.
It bore the insignia of the army and was dated two weeks ago. It arrived one week after you filled out that government form to get financial aid for turned humans.
The government was quick to act if it wanted something from you.
God forbid if you needed something from them, though. You still hadn't seen a single penny and had to live off your savings.
You were fortunate enough to not be living hand-to-mouth.
But this letter was different.
It was from Christophe, your former platoon leader when you were a sergeant.
While you just did your militia service and the accompanying refresher courses, he became a career officer.
It seemingly paid off for him, as he recently got promoted to help the commander of the recruitment centre in Turnegg.
He had been tasked to look into possible hybrid platoons to incorporate turned humans — the military calls them "Affligés" for some reason, like you were cursed by the pestilence itself...
You heard the post horn again, followed by a hard turn to the right. Everyone on board shifted to the left. You saw the foggy nothingness again.

... Anyway, guess it was Chris' lucky day when he saw your dossier on his desk.
He invited you to go through the recruitment process again to determine whether you would be suitable for the role of instructor for the hybrid platoon.
The examination would include some sports tests and a physical and mental health check-up. The same things you already had to go through back when you were a recruit a decade ago.
As you were already an NCO, there was no need for you to take the leadership and psychological tests, though.
Not that you were able to anyway. Your paws surprisingly sucked for typing on a keyboard.
You only had three fingers on each paw. Not having a proper thumb was just the icing on the cake.
You were still able to grasp things – admittedly a small consolation, considering your overall situation.
Your lost dexterity had also led you to fill out that form in the first place. You no longer were able to work as a software engineer, after all.
Another horn. Another shift to the right. Another grey brick in the wall.

Even though it was the military, you actually enjoyed your service.
There always was something new to do, and you could experiment with your leadership style without fear of being fired.
The way you carried yourself with the soldiers went down well with the rest of the platoon, which was why Chris made you his deputy.
You two became really close friends after that, even outside of the armed forces.
He trusted you with basically anything. In turn, he had kept you out of trouble and defended you when you couldn't stop yourself again from speaking out of line against the staff officers' bullshit orders.
Your decision was an obvious one. The offer was simply too irresistible given your situation. So you effectively accepted Chris' offer on the spot.
Ever since the first humans turned into Pokémon a few months ago, you wanted to help in any capacity possible.
It was a strange kind of win-win in a way. Perhaps it was fate's strange way of telling you that you could help after all?
Besides, you were eager to see Chris again. Several years had passed since the last time you two saw each other. The military academy had taken up all his free time.

You slid the letter back into its envelope, stowed it in your daypack, then put the pack down in the space in front of your seat.
The small bag was standard issue with the army's personal equipment. It had just enough space to fit most of your important stuff.
Since you didn't need clothes anymore, the space it provided was more than enough for the next two days.
What had once only existed in your nightmares had now become a bitter reality. Leaving your home without putting on clothes was certainly an unpleasant experience.
The first few outings were agonising. You immediately started wearing a dark purple scarf around your long neck as compensation to avoid feeling too exposed.
Subsequent trips were easier, probably partly due to that little voice in the back of your head.
The news and other turnees considered the voices to be the soul of the original Pokémon.
If true, either the little voice pouts at you for taking its body hostage, or it wouldn't care and simple nudge you in the right direction occasionally. You were just hoping it was the latter, because you already had more than enough on your plate.

One more horn resounded from the bus. The waltz continued its dance to the left.
But this time, there was no fog.
Instead, the mist slowly but surely gave way to a panorama even Van Gogh could only dream of.
It was enough to snap you out of your reverie.
A veil of pearly-white mist stretched before you; beyond that, the Alps were ablaze in scarlet.
You couldn't help yourself, but smile a little.
"Guess the journey paid off just for that," you thought to yourself.

Some of the other passenger also seemed to notice the vista, as you heard some chatter and saw a few pointing fingers.
Most took just a quick glance at the burning grace.
Everyone, except a young man with dark brown hair and glasses in front of you.
He was preoccupied with his phone until the man beside him ― you assumed he was his friend ― tapped him on the shoulder, jolting him awake.
In shock, he dropped his smartphone in your direction.
The little voice suddenly jumped into action.
You leaned towards the glass sandwich to catch it. You captured the device between both your paws and saved it from a terrible fate on the bus floor.
Unfortunately, your reflexes weren't quick enough to save you from the handrail, which was now firmly pressing against your snout.
You could hear some passengers snickering. The voice joined in, before leaving you to your own embarrassment.
You felt your blood rushing to your head. Thanks to all the fur nobody seemed to notice your blushing, at least. A small comfort.
Thankfully, the top railing had padding around it, so it didn't hurt too much.
You slid off your seat during your acrobatic manoeuvre. Luckily, your claws missed your daypack by mere milimetres. It would live to see another day.
You shuffled to your feet, freeing yourself from your mangled position, holding the phone in one paw and your sore nose with the other.
You involuntarily glanced at the phone.
You knew it was bad etiquette to pry into someone's screen, but the content of the web page he was visiting caught your attention.
He was on the Bulbapedia page of Mienshao.
You look up to the brown-haired man.
You thought you were embarrassed by your cat-like behaviour, but the poor man could outshine the sun. He was as red as a tomato!
You bet he'd leap into an abyss right about now, if one were to open right in front of him.
Even worse, you couldn't shake the feeling that your bus neighbour usually wasn't easily embarrassed.

The silence was deafening.

You broke the awkwardness, "You should really consider not dropping everything the moment someone asks you for something. Unless, of course, you wanted to make me jump like a cat. In which case, congratulations! You succeeded." you mockingly said, still rubbing your nose with your right paw.

The man took back his phone and began to stammer. "Th-thank you, sir. I'll keep i- I'll keep it in mind, and sorry for making you jump like that."
He lowered his head in shame.
It seemed you misjudged your sarcasm and his reaction to it.

"Oh no, you're fine!" you reassure him, "No need to apologise. You couldn't have known that my instincts kick in like that. Even I was surprised by my actions!"

You tried to force a smile to ease the tension, but you only managed an awkward grin.
Your conversation partner looked up at you and started to smirk when he saw how unsuccessful your attempt at a smile had been.
"I guess we could both learn a few things, Mister Cheshire," he said.
You closed your mouth and cleared your throat.

"I guess we could", you replied, "But please don't call me Mr Cheshire, I'm Etienne."

You flipped the whip-like appendage on your right arm to the side and offered your paw for a handshake.
The young man returned your handshake. His grip was surprisingly firm.
The grip of a confident man! It turned out that your initial assessment of his character was half right after all!
"Nice to meet you Etienne, my name's Florin", he introduced himself.

"With that out of the way" you continued, "I gotta ask – why are you looking at the Bulbapedia page of Mienshao?"

Florin hesitated before answering, "I-i guess I was curious about what had been sitting right beside me for the past fifteen minutes."

"Makes sense, I'd probably do the same if some furry slinky were sitting next to me looking all melancholic", you jokingly said.

Florin began to laugh. "Furry slinky, really? Is that what you call yourself? But calling you Mr Cheshire is inappropriate..."

"I'm allowed to call myself whatever I want!" you protested.

You two continued to tease each other for a while. It seemed you got along well.
The novelty soon wore off, however, and you were both back to minding your own business shortly afterwards.
Florin was again mindlessly scrolling on his phone, while you committed yourself to spotting as many birds as possible.
You could have sworn you saw a Skarmory sparkling in the sunlight.

Chapter 1 – The Recruitment Centre

Part 1 – Welcome to Turnegg

Ten more minutes later, the bus finally arrived at the Turnegg bus stop.
You remained in your seat until most of the around 60 recruits left the vehicle.
It took a while, but once the corridor was empty, you shouldered your daypack, wished the bus driver a pleasant day, and stepped outside into the fledgling day.
You took a deep breath of the cool, fresh Alpine air of late September, which cheered you up right away.
You always liked the air up here and your improved sense of smell made you appreciate it even more!
The crisp air alone had reawakened your wanderlust. Anything to get out of the city!
You thought about whether there'd be enough free time over the next two days to satisfy your desire to wander.
The voice also seemed to share your sentiment, pleading you to explore the little village on the side of a mountainous forest.
You ignored the voice, but promised yourself that you would try to scout out the area later.
Invigorated by the air, you made your way to the entrance around the corner of the street.
As you trotted down the road, you looked around. You saw many houses and chalets, each one more beautifully decorated with gentians, alpine roses and pansies than the last.
At some point, you caught a scent of lavender, which made the whole sensory experience complete.
You reached the end of the street and turned the corner.
You were now able to see your destination: A big building complex, three stories tall. Its concrete walls were hiding behind decorative wooden planks.
It wasn't as aesthetically pleasing as the chalets around it, but at least they tried their best to harmonise the modern with the traditional. They even put some nice-looking bushes in front of where it wasn't easy to hide the exposed concrete.
You saw a commotion in the distance. It was the new recruits trying to sign in at the entrance.

You strolled leisurely towards the entrance, at least until you saw them: Stairs hid themselves behind a well placed bush! The entrance was about five metres up from street level.
Your mood took a hit right then and there. You disliked climbing stairs with your short legs. The steps were just high enough so you had to jump a little.
"Curses..." you muttered to yourself, the voice once again in agreement.
You readied yourself to hop up the stairs, when you saw your ray of hope on the other side. There was a ramp for wheelchairs and heavy trolley bags.
Relieved, you circled around to the other side and walked up the ramp, sparing you from the early-morning exercise. Potted plants decorated the small path to the elevated entrance.
There were still two or three dozen people waiting in line. You decided to wait it out on the sidelines.
You made your way to some empty flowerpots where the morning sun was already shining and sat on one of their brims.
You took the chance to chill and meditate for a while. You closed your eyes and let your mind go free as the warm rays bathed your purple, ermine body.
But it didn't take long to feel something tugging on your tail. You opened your eyes and looked down to your left.
A young looking calico cat pawed at the two purple tips of your tail.
Surprised by the unannounced guest, you moved your tail up and away from the vicious beast.
The cat, clearly upset that its toy had been taken away so soon, glanced up at you.
Its big, steel-blue eyes met yours. It meowed, as if to say "Let me play some more!"
You jumped off the flowerpot. The cat took a step back because of the sudden movement, but didn't run away. Instead, it tilted its head curiously to one side.
You squatted down and waited for the cat to come closer again.

You reached out a paw to it. "Hello, little one," you said, greeting it.

The cat meowed again and head-butted your paw affectionately. It then moved around you, rubbing its head against your legs.
You carried on petting the attention-seeking red-white-and-brown cat. This continued for some time.
«Looks like I'm not the only high-ranking officer who's taken a liking to you,» you heard a familiar voice call out from behind you.
Your ears autonomously perked up and moved backwards, then your head followed.
A lanky man with short blonde hair and a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth stood before you. His uniform's right collar featured a badge with a single, wide, horizontal bar — a major!
You stood up and saluted the officer with a big smile. The whip on your right arm was swinging all over the place because of the momentum. The cat focused intently on the movement.

"Christophe, it's been a while!" you greeted your old friend.

Christophe took a long drag of his cigarette.
«Repos, mon ami. You don't need to be formal around me,» he said, casually blowing out the smoke and returning the salute. He made sure to blow the smoke away from your sensitive nose.
You lowered your arm. The cat followed your every hand movement, its eyes narrowed to slits.
Christophe's emerald green eyes mustered you from head to claw, before he gave you a big, brotherly hug.
«It so good to see you again, Etienne! How have you been?», he asked you, patting you on the back. It felt somewhat awkward, since you were now two heads shorter than him.

You patted him on his left shoulder and replied, "Good, considering the circumstances."

«Glad to hear that!» The officer said and let you free. He then looked down to the little fur ball to your side. It was preparing to pounce on its prey.
You followed Christophe's gaze to the tiny, tricoloured predator. You knew what it wanted, and you accepted your fate and held your right arm out in front of you. The purple-tipped, snake-like extension of your arm now swung dangerously close to its own demise. A declaration of war!
Christophe chuckled with anticipation. «Vas-y, colonel Benny !» he encouraged the cat.
Finally, Benny sprang at its nefarious opponent, claws out and ready to finish the "serpent" off. You made sure the fight wasn't one-sided by moving your arm around.
Christophe and you couldn't stop laughing your sides off at the adorable display of murderous instincts.
The fierce battle continued for a few moments.
The purple snake demon weaved around the colonel, who tried his best to parry and riposte with quick strikes.
First an attack from the left, then from above. None of them were a match for the seasoned feline. He knew how to cover his blind spots and exploit his enemies' weaknesses. Sun Tzu would have been proud of his prowess!
Another strike, this time from the front. The colonel readied himself to deliver the coup de grâce — a direct hit!

At last, the battle was won! The colonel stood triumphantly before its slain adversary and meowed once again.

"Well fought, Colonel! Congratulations!" You congratulated the proud victor and scratched him behind the ear as a treat. A loud purr erupted from God's perfect killing machine.

Christophe was still recovering from his laughter, wiping a tear from his left eye. «Goodness! Turned or not, it's always fun with you around, isn't it?» he stated.

"Trying my best," you replied while cleaning your arm from the battle debris.

Suddenly, the cat heard a bird moving around inside the nearby shrubbery. The young colonel had found a new addition to his badge collection and sped off towards the bush.
«Well, that's that,» Christophe said. He took his last drag of the cigarette and flung it into the nearby ash tray.
«Unfortunately, I have to go to a different military base for the rest of the day to complete some administrative tasks,» he began. «We'll have an after-action review tomorrow at fourteen hundred to discuss your potential role in the hybrid platoon.»

"Aww, that's a shame," you replied, sounding defeated. "I was looking forward to catching up with you!"

«I know, I know... We'll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, including our private lives,» he reassured you.

"If you say so. See you tomorrow then, Chris," you concluded.

«À demain, Etienne !» Your friend said with a warm smile as he put his military cap back on. «Best of luck with the recruitment exams!»

"Merci ! Good luck with the higher-ups! You probably need it more than I do." you replied with a grin.

Christophe snorted. «You know it.»
The two of you bumped fists as a final farewell. Christophe then went over to the G-Class that was already waiting for him at the end of the ramp.
You were on your own again. You looked at the entrance. There were only four people left in the queue, so you went inside to sign in.

Part 2 – The Struggles of Signing In

Once inside, the distinct, sharp, alcoholic smell of hand sanitiser crept into your nose.
Your eyes immediately began to water.
You instinctively covered your nose with your paw and started breathing through your mouth.
It didn't help much, the damage had already been done.
You blinked wildly while trying to keep the accompanying dizziness in check.
It was similar to when you tested the seal on your protective mask and you agreed to pull your mask off for a quick laugh.
How on earth did you manage to do ten maskless push-ups in that tear-gas-filled trailer back then?
No! You've been through worse, you can't give up at the first hurdle!
"Tenacity in difficult situations! Stiff upper lip and all that," you reminded yourself.
You lowered your paw and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.
You took a first, quivering breath.
It stung like hell, your nose was in agony, and your vision was a blurry mess.
You focused on yourself, ignoring the thousand needles prodding your nose, and took another breath.
The dizziness was starting to ease off. However, your nose was still displeased by your insistence.
Another inhale.
Your nose slowly began to get used to the lingering aerosols.
You took a few more breaths and eventually recovered your footing, and your nose stopped sounding the alarm.
It still stung, but it was becoming bearable.
You hoped that not every new sensory sensation would irritate you like this.
You dried your eyes with your arm and sniffed your nose.
With your eyes clear of tears, you could finally see the entrance room in its full, grey glory.
The walls were mostly concrete, with a few pictures of military equipment and historic events to break up the otherwise monotonous boringness.
Several tables were set up to cope with the rush of recruits from earlier.
Besides you, there were just a few soldiers loitering around and one recruit still signing up.

While you were busy with your overloaded sense of smell, a soldier behind one of the sign-in desks had stood up and looked at you concerned.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
He made a move to go around the table and help you, but you gestured for him to stay where he was.

"I'll probably survive, thank you," you replied. "Did you happen to spill a palette of disinfectant? The smells's revolting!"

The man sniffed the air with a raised eye brow.
"No sir, but we have a strict disinfection policy for everyone signing up," he explained and sat down again.

"I see... That's gonna be annoying...", you replied while making your way to the desk.

It was COVID all over again, it seemed.
Minus the masks, at least.
"Anyway, let's get you checked in," he said, and began rummaging through a pile of papers behind him.
"A Mienshao Affligé..." he said to himself, probably searching for a specific document.
He finally pulled a piece of paper from the pile.
"Ah, there it is! I assume you must be Sergeant Etienne, then?" he finally asked.
You straightened up and moved your arms back into a mantis-like stance to not drag your whips on the ground anymore.
You pulled your snotty nose up again.

"You assumed correctly!" you replied.

"Wonderful! We just need you to fill out this form and sign it at the bottom on the back side," he told you, pointing to the different fields on the front and back of the paper he slid towards you.
You looked at him with a slightly tilted head.

"Don't you already have this information?" you asked.

"It's to confirm that the data in our system is still correct," he replied.
He then put a pen next to the document.

"OK then..." you muttered.

"Could I borrow a tissue, please?" you asked, sniffing up the mucus again. "My nose is still a bit runny."

"Oh, sure. One sec." The man opened the chest pocket of his uniform, took out a packet of tissues and handed you one.
You thanked him and blew your nose, then took a liberating breath without snot.

"Ah, much better!"

You glanced down to the form and the ball point pen beside it.
You actually haven't written anything with a pen since turning.
You grabbed the pen with your right hand.
Without a thumb, you couldn't properly hold it, so you tried a few different styles.
Holding it like a human with thumbs would?
Obvious result...
Maybe pinch it between your digits?
Not enough grip strength...
The Private watched you with amusement.
You eventually settled on clutching the writing utensil with your fist.
The form just asked for some general information, such as your place of residence, national insurance number, occupation and emergency contacts.
Writing was easier than you thought. It felt like you were five again, but at least you were still able to write things down.
Your whip appendage on the other hand...
You filled out a few lines, just for the whip to smear your writing.
You flicked the furry snake away and retraced the messed up letters.
You jotted down a few more lines, just for the purple menace to ruin it again!
You felt many eyes on you.
...
It happened again — for the third time.

"Argh, screw those bloody whips!" you blurted out.

You stared at your involuntary blotting paper – now sprinkled with blue ink – and wondered whether you should just tear it away.
You knew full well that it was a waste of time, as the bloody thing just grew back after a day or two.
...
Screw it! They gotta go!
Just as you were about to rip the leash off with your left paw, another soldier nearby joined in.
"Why not wrap those things around your arms if they annoy you?" he suggested.
You stopped writing and glared up at him.

"And how would that he-" you interrupted yourself mid sentence.

Your mouth stood agape.
What?
How didn't you come up with that idea? It was so simple!
"Six bloody weeks..." raced through your mind.
For six long weeks, you either tore them off or tried to ignore them.
For six annoying weeks, the voice occasionally reminded you to hold your arms up like a dog standing on its hind legs and be proud of the whips pristine sheen.
For six humiliating weeks, you gave in, mainly because cleaning them up after dragging them through the mud would have been worse.
Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and, even worse, self-doubt.
The voice seemed to have influenced you more than you initially thought.
It wasn't just pouting after all!
It wasn't a passenger, but the copilot.
But those six weeks were over now.
You were in charge — completely this time!
Hopefully...
There was a lot to think about yourself and that little weasel in your head, but it had to wait.
You cleared your throat and turned to the soldier, who stared at you as if petrified by Medusa.

"Please forgive my anger. I was just about to rip those things off, but your suggestion is actually so much better!" you told him, trying to soften the glare you'd shot at the man a second ago. "Merci!"

The soldier hesitated, but gave you a smile and a salute in return. "Glad to help, Sergeant!" he said with relief.
You grabbed the whip on your right arm and started to wrap it around your forearm.
You secured it by cramming the purple tips into the gaps.
Your copilot in the meantime was howling at you, telling you were a disgrace if you didn't show your weapons with pride.
...
You wrapped the left whip around your limb.

Afterwards, you shook your arms around to see if your efforts had paid off.
Luckily for you, they held fast.
Your forearms felt a bit strange and they were a bit thicker now, but after six weeks, your wrists were finally able to move freely without anything obstructing them.
Even better, you no longer had to walk around like a praying mantis to avoid dragging your long fur on the ground.
You could feel slightly more human again.
A relieved sigh escaped your mouth.
You adjusted a few creases to feel more comfortable.
You thanked the soldier again and then continued filling out the form.
Once finished and signed, you slid the form back over the table.
The soldier took the form and checked it to make sure it was all legible.
He nodded, put the piece of paper on a different stack of forms and handed you another, more colourful piece of paper.
The vibrant, colour-coded page contained the whole time table for your stay.
"That's the Picasso for the next two days," he began. "You're in group three."
"The commander's speech starts in 55 minutes," he continued, "You can take your luggage up to your room on the second floor; room number 204. You'll be sharing it with two other Affligés. Please deposit your belongings and then make your way to the waiting area in 40 minutes at the latest." He then pointed to the room to your left.
You nodded, still mustering the Picasso for your group.
After the speech, there was the sports exam together with group one, followed by some time to shower and have lunch.
The medical examination took up the entire afternoon, leaving just free time after dinner.
The next morning was left empty for group three, while the other groups were having the leadership and service aptitude tests.
After lunch, there was a big block labelled "Assignment".
You assumed that this last block would be the exchange that Christophe told you about.
Between the blocks were awfully long gaps.
You folded the paper up and put it in your bag.
You thanked the soldier and made your way up the stairs up to the second floor.
There was no saving grace for you this time, as the elevator was for staff only.
You gain some, you lose some...
So you started hopping up the stairs.
At least the voice seemed to have calmed down.

Part 3 – The Triumvirate

Two stories and 40 hops later, you arrived at the second floor.
Fortunately, your stamina has improved drastically with your new body.
Jumping around like that would've certainly wrecked you seven weeks ago.
You looked down the long hallway.
The right side was full with lockers and doors to the bedrooms, while the left side had lots of windows and mostly empty walls.
There wasn't much going on, but you could still hear some chattering coming from the rooms.
Above the first door hung a WC and bathroom sign.
You were a bit thirsty from the journey, so you had a quick look inside.
As you expected, there were about a dozen toilets and urinals, two room-long basins with mirrors and the usual large wet room with shower heads.
You walked over to one of the basins and turned on one of the taps and took a few good gulps.
The cool water felt great going down your long throat.
You also took the opportunity to clean the ink from your fur.
You unwrapped your right whip and started scrubbing.
Your fur wasn't as oily and water-repellent as the coat of an otter. Even so, the ink was quite easy to wash out.
Once the most egregious spots were cleaned, you wrung out the whip and wrapped it back around your arm.
Surprisingly, the voice seemed to have accepted the wrapping already and didn't cry out again.
The slightly wet sensation reminded you of all the times your sleeves got caught under the stream while you were washing your hands.
Satisfied, you went back to the hallway and marched to the next door to figure out where your room was exactly.
The first bedroom showed the number 225.
"Fantastic..." you murmured to yourself.

You leisurely started to make your way to the other end of the hallway.
The light-grey, rubbery floor felt oddly nice to walk on, as it feathered your gait while the Lego-like texture basically gave your feet a massage.
The clattering of your claws, on the other hand...
The emptiness of the hallway and general absence of activities amplified the noise.
You were not a fan, but there was nothing you could do but soldier on.
While you walked further down the hallway, you noticed some pictures hanging between the panes.
You had a look at some of them to distract yourself.
There was the obligatory "Patrouille Suisse flying in formation and showing their bellies with the snow covered Alps in the background" picture.
You always liked the iconic red and white livery of the F-5 fighter jets.
Too bad you weren't fit enough to become a fighter pilot back in the day. Flying through the mountainous terrain while dipping in and out of the fog always had been a dream of yours.
Now you were fit enough, but your ermine form wouldn't allow for piloting a supersonic war machine anymore and you highly doubted that they would custom build one for you either.
...
Maybe Affligé was the correct term after all...
You passed room 217.
The next picture was a great one — an action shot of an artillery piece mid-fire. The shock wave kicked up dust and dirt around the gun as the round, surrounded by thick, light-grey smoke, left the muzzle.
Room 209
Lastly, you saw a frame full of badges that you could earn during your service.
You knew around half of them and got four of your own: the service badge, the marksman's award, self-help and comrade assistance / CBRN defence, and domestic operations.
You were proud of those badges, even if they weren't particularly hard to achieve.
You wondered, if the army would introduce Pokémon-specific awards and if you could perhaps get them yourself.
Thinking about this made you realise what a badge junkie you actually were.
No matter, it always felt nice when you got some recognition for a job well done.
You finally got to room 204. It was the last one before another bathroom and staircase.
The door was half open and you could hear two voices inside.
One sounded higher and had a slight humming to it, while the other sounded more like chirping.
You paused for a second before knocking on the door and letting yourself in. The two voices fell silent.

The room itself was pretty basic. There were two bunk beds and a small shelf between them to your right. There also was big window looking out over the back of the building. The left wall was bare, apart from a single picture of an IFV.
At least the walls were covered with ingrain wallpaper and not simply left with exposed concrete like the rest of the building.
Perched on top of the further away bunk bed frame was a roughly basketball sized, black and red feathered bird with yellow wing tips.
The bird turned its head slightly to the side to get a better look at you.
"Salut!" the Fletchinder greeted you with his chirpy voice.

"Good morning," you replied and gave him a nod.

"Oh, oh, oh! Is our little trio complete now?" You heard an excited but bodiless voice say from your right.
Something shuffled around on the top bunk right next to you.
The mattress on the bed was higher than your head, so you stretched as far as you could to see the stranger, who was probably trying to get up.
To your surprise, however, the bed seemed to be completely empty.
You wondered which Pokémon the military summoned to participate in their little publicity stunt.
It should be someone strong or with an extraordinary ability to get the upper hand in battle.
A ghost-type perhaps?
You didn't have to wait long to find out, because a tiny yellow head with four blue eyes appeared over the edge of the bed frame.
The little creature lifted his right front leg and waved it at you. "Howdy!"
What? Why?

"Uh, hi?" you greeted the yellow tick with slightly widened eyes. "I honestly didn't expect a Joltik to be here."

The Joltik puffed himself up. "Neither did feather brain over there, yet here I am!" he said, looking over to his feathered comrade.
The Fletchinder flapped his wings. "Hey, I have a name you know!" he hissed at the tiny arachnid.
"I know~" the electric spider gleefully responded.
The Joltik looked back to you.
"Anyway, my name is Joel." He said, trying to salute you with his right little arm.
"And I'm Nick," added the fiery avian. "Nice to meet you!"

"Likewise! I'm Etienne," you introduced yourself with a smile.

What a quirky little group you had found yourself in!
You made your way to the bunk bed below the Fletchinder, put down your daypack in front of the night stand and hopped onto the mattress.

"I assume this one isn't taken yet?" you asked around.

The Joltik made his way down to the mattress opposite of you.
"Technically no bed is taken yet. Nick just perched himself up there and I wanted to be on eye level with him." Joel explained with a soft hum.
Nick fluttered down to the bed and made himself comfortable next to the much smaller Joltik.
"I was up there because I don't like the feeling of being enclosed by things." he said.
"Feather's claustrophobic~" Joel teased him.
Nick looked at Joel with narrowed eyes.
"You know that birds eat bugs like you," Nick grumbled at him.
You heard a soft crackling from the Jolitk, as he was building up static.
Joel then stood up on his hind legs to be more intimidating.
Well... as intimidating as a tennis ball sized, cute fur ball can be.
"Try me!" Joel spit back. "Electric is super effective against flying!"
Without a comment, Nick flapped his wings, creating a small gust.
The little bug-type immediately lost his balance and fell backwards onto his back. The static fizzled out while he tumbled.
"Hey, not fair!" he complained.
He started to flail with his four short legs to get himself back up.
You snorted.
They behaved like old friends. Maybe they did their apprenticeship together or perhaps they knew each other since childhood?
Before you could say anything, Nick turned his attention away from the struggling Joltik.
"So, how have you adjusted to being a... Sorry, what Pokémon are you anyway?" he asked you.

"Oh, uhm, I'm a Mienshao," you monotonously said.

"Mienshao, huh? Something after the fourth generation then?" he responded.

"Yeah, it's a fighting-type from the fifth generation," you explained to the bird.

You started rummaging through your bag for your phone.
Meanwhile, Joel was still lying on his back, wriggling and straining to find something to turn himself over.
But the empty mattress didn't have anything to grab onto.
You found your phone at the bottom of the daypack.

"But to get back to your question; settling in has been hard, especially with the constant emotional and psychological strain," You continued and put your phone on the bedside cabinet.

Nick tilted his head. "Didn't get spared by the intrusive thoughts, huh?" He said in a somewhat sombre tone.

"Guess so. Still adjusting to the whole..." You smacked your lips. "...experience?" You half-questioned yourself and gestured to your body.

You still weren't really sure of what to think about turning into a noodle with fur.
And frankly, you didn't want to think about it right now either.

"What about you two?" you started, to change the topic away from yourself. "Both of you seem rather comfortable with yourselves." you asked the two Pokémon.

Joel, now lying still and defeated on his back, was the first to respond.
"I think I'm one of the first cases nationwide. I turned half a year ago," he said. "I don't have a lot of psychological problems, though. Only that I want to french-kiss power sockets sometimes..." He chuckled while eyeing the outlet above the bedside table.
There was a moment of silence in the room as Joel tried to get up again.
He quickly gave up.
"Okay, I'm sorry I called you feather brain, Nick," he apologised to his tormentor. "Please help me get up!" He pleaded, stretching out all four limbs as if he wanted to hug someone.
Nick looked down to the helpless electric-type and shrugged as best as he could.
"Hmph, alright, grab on," he called out to Joel, hopped closer to him and extended his right wing above him.
The Joltik gladly grabbed the feathery arm that toppled him just a few moments ago and pulled himself back on his feet.
"Much better, thank you!" replied the relieved spider.
The Fletchinder just nodded and turned his attention back to you.
"As for me, I turned three and a half months ago. No real negative side effects either, other than not liking enclosed spaces." he said while he adjusted his wings to sit more comfortably.
"To be honest, I've never felt better! I've been a big fan of birds and flying all my life and I always wanted to be a pilot someday," he added with a happy chirp in his voice.
He tried to smile as much as his beak would allow.
"You'll get used to it, I'm sure of it!" He tried to cheer you up.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll get used to it," you protested. "Im just in a very long round of Schwingen at the moment, and I can't seem to heave the instincts and urges down into the sawdust. But I'm not going down that easily!"

The Joltik's eyes lit up when you mentioned the national sport.
"Did you wrestle in the sawdust ring before turning?" he asked with anticipation.

"Oh, not much," you admitted. "I rarely wore the wrestling trousers myself, but over the years I regularly attended the Swiss Wrestling Festivals with my grandpa!"

"Ooh, I always wanted to go to one — I love Swiss wrestling! Everyone I know only ever watches boring football and I never had the chance to visit a festival myself," Joel said, practically buzzing with excitement.
His joy was highly contagious and brought a smile to your face.
You saw an opportunity to make a new friend.

"Wanna go together to one sometime?" you asked him.

You didn't think he could get any happier, but he literally began to glow blue with joy.
"Yes, absolutely!" he hummed, jumping up and down with joy.

You turned to Nick. "What about you? Want to join us as well?"

Nick hesitated.
Eventually, he flapped his wings. The little bundle of joy beside him flinched and stopped glowing, fearing he would be flipped upside down again.
"Ah hell, why not. Sounds like a fun enough trip," Nick finally said, giving another hearty flap. "I'm not the biggest fan of Schwingen, but festivals are always fun."
Joel let out a happy buzz. "Yay!"

Joel and you chatted a bit more about your spontaneous plans.
Nick had meanwhile fluttered back to his previous spot above you to look outside.
You guessed that he wasn't as comfortable on the lower bed and that he wasn't as invested in the conversation.
Joel raved about the television broadcast and how he always wanted to start wrestling himself.
You told him how you got into it and that you mainly did to spend more time with your grandpa before he tragically passed away earlier this year.
After mentioning this, Joel's uplifted mood deteriorated, as if it had brought back painful memories.

"Are you alright?" you asked him.

"Yeah... just some bad memories." he dismissed you with a cold voice. "I'm sorry for you loss."
The way he answered made you believe that he must have had a very profound experience. You've never seen anyone get sad so quickly just from the mention of death.
...
You knew it was better not to ask the obvious next question.
Instead, you grabbed your phone to look at the time.
You didn't realise how fast the time had passed. The clock already showed 08:36.

"Well, we should really go back down to the waiting area. We got ten minutes left to gather," you told your newfound friends.

"Oh really?" Nick said from above. "But it's way more comfortable in here and we still got ten minutes!"
The room wasn't really that inviting in your eyes.

"Why's that?" you asked, remembering the order to go to the waiting area straight away after bringing your luggage up here.

"Well... you know how we turnees just get stared at constantly, right?" the bird explained.
You knew.
Joel joined in too. His voice didn't have that sombre undertone from before anymore. "The stares just don't stop and it makes me nervous."

The constant stares never really bothered you, but you still felt how people constantly glanced at you in your new, everyday life.
But you'd also been trying to avoid as much exposure to society as possible for the past six weeks in general.
The trip here was actually the longest time you'd been in public by a long shot.
You sympathised with the two of them, but orders were orders.

"I know, I know. But we still need to gather in the waiting area, regardless of the stares," you tried to convince them. "Orders shouldn't be ignored so early in your career."

Nick glided down beside you, staring at you with narrowed eyes.
"You sound just like my former lieutenant. Aren't you a private, like we are?" he accused you.
You were found out.
Well, it wasn't a secret to begin with, but it still felt like it.
There was no reason to hide it.

"Sergeant, actually," you corrected the suspicious bird.

Nick hopped a step away from you. "Oh shit, should I have called you 'Sir'?" he gasped.

"Heavens, no!" you immediately replied, your paws held up in an apologetic gesture. "I've never been one of those NCOs with a power trip fetish. I dropped that act after the first twelve weeks of RS. It's perfectly fine to address me informally!"

"Man, what a twist," the electric-bug-type chuckled.
Nick cleared his throat. "Sorry, many NCOs kinda have a stick up their bum."

"You're good. The army does have a lot of those..." you remarked, lowering your paws and jumping off the mattress.

Joel recited one of the derogatory sayings about militia NCOs and officers. "A failure in life; a cadre in the army~"
Unfortunately, the saying hit the nail on the head in many cases. There was an overabundance of incompetence in the commanding ranks of the militia.
While you were on topic, now was the time to ask that question that'd been bugging you for a while.

"So, you were privates before turning," you began. "Did you two serve together?"

Nick looked up to you with a puzzled look on his face.

"How do you know that?" he asked. "We served in the same regiment. Joel was a mechanic while I was the driver of a Piranha AFV. Well, we still kinda are — on paper I mean."
Bingo! You were mostly right with your assumption.

"The way you interacted with each other gave it away," you told them.

Little Joel was making his way to the edge of the mattress, but didn't jump down yet.
"You are pretty observant," he expressed.

"A good leader should know the people he works with," you stated with pride.

They nodded.

"Anyway, we should probably go downstairs now." you said. "I really don't want to piss off the fish finger faction this early."

Both of them agreed with a chuckle, but Joel still hesitated to jump off the bed.
He looked.. helpless?
You went over to him and crouched down.

"Need a ride?" you asked the little four-legged arachnid.

"Yes please... I'm not as quick as I used to be and the idea of someone stepping on me is pretty unnerving, to be honest," Joel admitted.
You stretched out your arm towards him.

"Alright, hop on. Standard charges apply," you invited him with a smile.
"Cheers, Sergeant!" Joel said as he saluted you and jumped onto your arm.

Joel then made his way up your arm and onto your shoulder before finally coming to rest on your head.
You felt the urge to swat the bug-type away...
"You're really fluffy, you know?" you heard from the top of your head. "I kinda expected you to be... more otter-ish?"
That didn't help with the urge, either.

"Mhm"

You didn't like the remark, even if you made that connection pretty early yourself.
After you had told your parents about your condition, your mother also made the same remark when they visited you and she gave you a hug.
The petting that followed felt awful, even if she only meant well.

You grabbed your daypack and took out all the things you didn't need to carry with you. A towel, as well as your toothbrush and toothpaste.
You put the items on the mattress, put your phone back in and picked up the bag.
The three of you left the room and made your way to the stairs on the far end of the hallway.
While you were walking, you asked them about their service together.
Nick told you that his Piranha regularly broke down and needed frequent repairs. Joel was assigned to his regiment after the second time for rudimentary field repairs and acted as his personal navigator.
"Ah, good times" Joel revelled in nostalgia. "That stupid piece of junk always broke down at the most inconvenient time."
"Like that one time we somehow got stuck in a literal puddle in the middle of a field because the engine suddenly decided to output only 5% of its power?" Nick chirped, hopping beside you, trying to keep up your pace.
"Aw man, don't remind me," Joel chuckled from the top of your head. "For some reason, the engine was leaking oil in ways I never thought possible. It fucked up the differential somehow."
"Oh, right! It wasn't actually the engine that time," replied Nick. "It took us about seven hours to get back to base, too."
You just listened and enjoyed the conversation.
It was always nice to share experiences in the army. It was a great conversation starter.
The three of you went downstairs into the now empty entrance room.
The smell of hand sanitiser had dissipated somewhat, but was still lingering in the air.
The concentration was low enough to not bother you as much this time around.
You could hear a lot of chatter behind the door labelled as the waiting area.
You led the way into the room, Nick closely following behind you.

Your gaze swept across the L-shaped room to find a free spot at the edges. It was a spacious hall with lots of tables scattered around. Along the walls were large shelves, displaying brochures detailing all the various army functions one could be assigned to.
Almost all of the tables were occupied. Some of the recruits were browsing brochures, while many were scrolling through their phones and others were socialising.
Quite a few were looking in your direction too.
You guessed there were at least 200 people in here.
However, you couldn't see much around the corner.
There was all sorts of noise and chatter around you.
Suddenly, your left ear twitched.
Joel was poking it with his leg.

"Cut it out up there!" you commanded.

The poking stopped.
"Sorry..." Joel replied. "Your ears were swivelling around and I got curious."
They did? You hadn't noticed...
Nick flew past you to a table by the outer wall of the wing, near the corner, where there were still chairs available.
Some recruits ducked their heads as the bird flew just above them.
You followed him, but had to weave your way through the maze of tables and people.
You were kinda envious of Nick.
You could've turned into something with a helpful ability such as flight.
But you turned into a humanoid mink with whips instead of thumbs.
At least you were still fairly compatible with human infrastructure.
That was one thing you couldn't have envied him for.
You couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to live as a Joltik or another Pokémon with an entirely different body shape.
How horrific it must be to navigate our world as a ten centimetre big bug...
You thought about how the little play session with Benny the cat would have gone.
Probably a lot less enjoyable...
Just the thought of it gave you goose bumps.
You were trapped in a Furry's wet dream, but it could have been so much worse.

Despite their drastically altered bodies, Nick and Joel seemed in tune with their new lives, perhaps they could help you out with tackling your ever-present dysphoria?
You were torn from your daydreams once again, as Joel was climbing down from your head and onto your right shoulder.
The urge to swat him away came back while he moved around.
You arrived at the table where Nick had asked if the two seats were free. They nodded.
You joined them, taking the last free seat and placing your bag on the ground beside you.
"Thanks for the ride, Etienne!" Joel said and jumped from your shoulder onto the table.
He jumped surprisingly far.
Once landed, he had a quick look around, then walked over to the newspaper lying on the other side.
Nick sat on his chair to your right.
His head barely cleared the edge of the table, but he didn't seem to mind. Quite the opposite, actually.
The two recruits you sat with didn't concern themselves with you, as they were staring at their phones. Luckily they weren't the gawking kind, nor were they very talkative.
The table had the perfect position for you to see the other end of the bent room, though.
It was a bit larger than expected, but still furnished with tables, shelves and recruits.
There was a small lounge in the corner, but what was sitting on the sofa was way more interesting.
A group of four women were chatting to each other.
Sitting with them was a white and blue Pokémon with long, curled-up ears and yellow eyes.
It was happily talking with its group and didn't notice its fellow Pokémon on the other side of the room.
And neither did your two fellows.
Nick was just staring holes in the air, while Joel was preoccupied with reading the newspaper.
You didn't read the news much because you felt it was bad for your mental health.
Arguably even more so than living with a Shaolin weasel in your head.
Now that you were back in the militia's limelight, you should probably start informing yourself again.

You leaned over the table and put your paw on the newspaper.

"Hold on tight or move off for a sec, I want to read too," you warned Joel, who turned to face you.

"Uh, sure," he replied and braced himself for the pull.
You carefully slid the paper towards you.
Joel stepped off the newspaper, once it was in front of you to let you read as well.
Joel had been reading the section dedicated to the Pokémon phenomena.
The whole double page was filled with updates to current happenings in Switzerland and Europe.
You skimmed through the segments.
A Frenchman had turned into a Swinub and became a famous truffle and porcino mushroom hunter in the Provence region.
There was a picture of said Swinub, where he was proudly standing next to around 5 kg of truffles and procinos. He looked quite pleased with his spoils.
There was another debunked sighting of a Lapras in Loch Ness.
Some Berlin citizens had misidentified a boar for a Pyroar... again.
Medical scientists at the University of Zurich had apparently begun developing their own diagnostic procedure for turnee's mental health issues, as they believed that Pokémon Induced Psychosis Syndrome (PIPS) had significant gaps in the actual help available to those affected.
Huh, that was an interesting one.
The few paragraphs didn't go into detail on what they were doing specifically, nor what PIPS was supposed to be.

"Does anyone of you know what this PIPS is?" you asked your accompanying Pokémon.

They had turned some time ago, they gotta know what it is.
"I heard of it, but I don't know what it is exactly," Joel replied. "What about you, feathers?"
Nick shot Joel a quick glare.
"Yes, I have," he began. "They diagnosed me a few weeks ago. There's two parts to it: One that diagnoses your memories, and the other that identifies your instincts and urges, I think."

"Interesting, how does it work?", you asked out of curiosity.

"It boils down to getting bombarded with questions about your past and then trying to figure out what Pokémon-specific alterations you have," he explained.

"What alterations?" you inquired.

"Things like you told us before," he continued. "Instincts, urges or atypical thought patterns. Merely psychological of course."
Nick presented himself, wings spread wide. "They can obviously see what happend to you physically." he said.
Joel spoke up. "I wonder if they're gonna use PIPS for the medical examinations this afternoon." he thought out loud.
"Could be." Nick replied.

"Well, thanks for the insights," you said to the fiery robin.

Your news reading was cut short, because a black-haired, middle-aged man in uniform had entered the room and demanded everyone's attention.
The room fell silent.
He asked everyone to follow him to the conference room for the commander's speech.
The room got pretty lively after that, as everyone stood up and started following the self-announced bear guide.
You grabbed your bag, and let Joel climb on your arm again.
This time, he stayed on your forearm.
You waited until the half of the people cleared out of the room.
While you waited, the group of women and the feline Pokémon passed you.
You exchanged glances, but no word was spoken.
They walked out of the room shortly after, and you three started to follow the rest of the crowd as well.
"I didn't expect a fourth turnee showing up," Joel remarked. "That was a Meowstic, right?"
Nick shrugged. "Dunno, definitely not gen four or earlier..." he said.
You weren't sure yourself.

"Aren't Meowstic supposed to be blue with white accents and blue eyes?" you asked.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure its just the female colouration," Joel replied.
You never saw it any other colour than blue, but you took the electric-types knowledge at face value.

You took a left out of the waiting room into the hallway.
From the looks of it the conference room was at the far end of the corridor.
While on your way, you three made bets on what the commander was going to say.
Joel bet that he would tell everyone how important their service is.
Nick was certain that the commander would spew a whole lot of nonsense about camaraderie, "finding ones limits", and how the military definitely isn't as terrible as its reputation.
You bet that he would tell everyone that "we are living in difficult times", while being as vague as possible to avoid stirring up controversy.
You all agreed that he would definitely talk about the Pokémon phenomenon in great detail while butchering every single 'Mons name.
Your group reached the door to the big conference hall.
As always, the early birds made themselves comfortable in the back, while the rest had to make do with the front and mid rows.
You looked around for free spaces.
You spotted two free chairs in the mid rows near the edge and pointed your feathery friend towards it.
Nick didn't hesitate and flew straight to the seats to reserve them for you ground-dwellers.
You saw him land and shoo away some recruits that wanted to sit beside him.
His chirping was remarkably loud.
You squeezed your way through the crowd to get to your reserved seat and sat down.
Joel moved up to your head again to see over the crowd.
Unfortunately, you were short and could barely see over the people sitting in front of you yourself.
Nick initially sat on the seat of the chair, but then hopped onto the backrest so he could see a little better.
However, his momentum almost caused the chair to tip over.
You immediately put your paw on the seat to stop it from tipping any further and put it back on all its four legs.
Nick looked pale, even through the plumage.
"Merci," he said quietly.

"Service !" you replied.

Now you waited.
The clock on the left wall showed 08:54
You waited until nine o'clock.
A grey-haired man in uniform shuffled to the podium. Three thick horizontal stripes adorned his right collar.
The colonel welcomed everyone to the facility and then began to inform you about what is happening the next two days.
He told you about what the military does, what alternatives there were, and how you should all be proud to serve under the flag.
He checked every mental box you three bet on.
It took an agonising thirty minutes for the speech to end.
You lost track of everything he said after ten.
After he finished and left the podium, the bear guide stepped up and instructed you on your next tasks.
The first examinations began at ten.
As you were in group three, you had half an hour to get ready and move to the sports hall.
Since you did not have to change clothes, that meant thirty minutes of free time.
You stood up and left the room with the others.
Maybe you'd bump into that Meowstic and have a chat?

Glossary