Some people are born with no guts and glory, others are born to do great and amazing things, but then you got Harold. A young tall, skinny sized man, who never fought a war in his life. Harold would rather sit at home, wasting time, while never moving in the motion with others. He is lazy, worthless, and beyond pathetic. Even as he walked down with the rest of the man, you could see him tripping, and going out of sync. "How do you March in these things?"

"HAROLD!" His sergeant angrily yelled angrily. Harold winced in pain at the sound. "Yes, sir?" He said weakly. "You're a pansy! And we don't like pansies! You're gonna shape up! Tonight you have to clean out the barracks!" The sergeant said folding his arms. "Now get back in line!" "Yes sir.." Harold sighed. He stood in line with the other recruits, who snickered at his bad luck.

Harold groaned, muttering up swear words beneath his breath, wishing he had a choice to come or not, rather than being drafted under his own free will. The whole day was exhausting. Running, climbing, and going through mud puddles. Harold felt miserable, getting his uniform more ruined than most of the recruits. Later that night, he scrubbed out the barracks, miserably dragging dirty rag across the floor. "This sucks... Also, can you guys knock it off? I'm trying to clean up your messes."

"Ok!" one of the others laughed and knocked over a potted plant, which shattered and made another mess. "You told me to knock it off!" They laughed before running out. Harold groaned. He couldn't take much more of this... As he started to clean up underneath the beds he felt something. "Huh?" Harold stopped and reached under the bed, pulling out a box. "What's this doing here?" He looked up, and realized it was underneath his own bed! "I didn't put this here..." He stared, then looked around. Making sure no one was looking, he opened it.

Harold plopped out what appeared to be a sergeants hat. It looked like a giant green bowl, its rims sticking out into giant triangles, with three yellow down arrows connected as one. There was a note inside of the hat, as Harold pulled it out, and read quietly to himself. "You will always be the best soldier in my heart. Your brother, Bottles. Who the heck is named Bottles?"

Harold shrugged and put it on. He grunted and immediately winced in pain. The hat clung to his head, and immediately his hair began to spread. It made his way down his neck, and down his face. Harold groaned and blinked hard as his eyes seemed to grow blurry. His nose pulled outwards, growing pointy as it curved upwards and grew rounded at the end.

"My... My eyes... I... I can't see..." Harold whispered, his voice starting to boom out, deepening, and sounding more demanding than it used to be, as his cheekbones stretched out, his neck shrinking within the giant mounds of skin and fur. He felt itch around his chest, scratching over his military uniform, while its grey camouflage design lightens, its colors changing to a navy green. The pockets over his pecs grew in white buttons, the pockets growing bigger, as his collar widened around the bottom of his neck.

Harolds face turned brown, with his muzzle area turning grayish white. His body started to shrink, particularly around his limbs, which grew shorter and shorter, until his pants fell off. His arms thinned out and shortened, but his hands remained big as fur covered them. His shoes changed into black military boots, with strong treads. Brown hair soon spread further as it covered his entire body. His chest soon cracked and stretched, growing broader at the shoulders, and pushing outwards with muscle, until he sported a nice large v-taper.

"Uh... What-" Harold's eyes opened, revealing to be green, while he patted his paws around his new shirt, his new size reminding him of an Oompa Loompa. He was gonna run out of the room, screaming for his mother, until something nagged at him. The room was too bright for his eyes, making Harold use one of his furred hands to cover them up, while the other was placed on the bed, gripping on to the dirty rag as hard as he could. It seemed to magically transform, turning to hard plastic, stretching out into two ends, while shades seemed to grow in between. Harold placed the new black material over his eyes, the brightness becoming dim, while his mind seemed to blank, his memories erased completely. "Wait... Who-Who am I again?..."

He looked around and picked up a stick that was on the floor. Then he heard voices approaching. "Hehehe, I bet he's gonna be up all night!" Harold stared, then his gaze turned into a glare, and his worried frown turned into an angry one. As the other soldiers entered, he leaped onto the bed. "ALRIGHT PUNKS LISTEN UP!" He ordered in a deep fearless and commanding voice. "This place is a mess! I want all of you to clean it up NOW!" "Oh? uh, sure thing" The soldiers stammered. "What was that soldier?!" He growled. "Sir yes sir!" They said saluting. "Good! now punks, you will refer to me as Sergeant Jamjars from now on! Am I clear?"

The next morning, Jamjar beats the soldiers hard. He made them moved like there was no tomorrow, going as fast as they could around the course, while Jamjar waves his stick, and yells like a lunatic. The man took no crap, however, as when one of his soldiers goofs off, he grabs them by the feet, and throws them on to the muddy ground, whacking the stick over their head. It was kind of amazing, how such a short guy had so much energy streaming out of him, while his men try their best not to tick him off. At around five o' clock, as the men were doing their push-ups, Jamjar secretly grabs Bottles note out of his shirt pocket, his words making him smile. "Thanks, young private. Hope to see you and the rest of the family