Idly itching at his chest, Chad discounted the goose bump-like feeling across his body as a result of the constantly changing temperature within the building. Often, the thermostat seemed to be on the fritz, ranging from 85 to a frigid 64 degrees within the building. He loosened his button-up shirt a bit, taking down the first two buttons, scratching at his upper chest.

A he stared ahead at the computer screen through his glasses; he noticed he was feeling much warmer than previously. Reaching up to unbutton one more of his shirt buttons, he caught sight of the back of his hand. He was not known as the overly hairy type, but as he could see, the back of his right hand was covered in a fine coating of what appeared to be black hair. Turning his hand over, he found that the hair was actually beginning to cover the palm of his hand, save for a few select spots. His pinky and ring fingers were feeling a bit stiff, so he flexed his fingers a few times to try to revive them to no avail.

The stiffness continued as he began to sweat a bit not only from the weirdness of the hair seemingly growing in front of his eyes on his hand, but also his body temperature rising another couple degrees. He was burning up! He had to get out of his cubicle and to the bathroom to get some water on his face. He thought to himself that his job must have finally been getting to him, driving him crazy. He stumbled as he exited his cubicle, with the questioning eyes of his co-workers staring him down all the way. His footwear seemed to be tight, another thing he was able to write-off, due to having purchased new shoes.

Upon arriving at the bathroom door, he stole another glance at his hands as he pushed on the door lightly. His hands, which were perfectly fine functioning five fingered human hands when he arrived at work this morning now resembled something more… animal. He was amazed to see the hair finish thickening in front of his eyes, disappearing up the cuffs of his shirt, straining on the buttons holding the sleeves together. As he made his way further in to the bathroom, ensuring nobody had followed him, he quickly closed and locked the door behind him. He couldn’t risk somebody seeing him like this, even if it was just a hallucination.

Gazing in awe at his hands, he closely looked at his new thicker four-digit configuration. Somehow, his pinky and ring finger on each hand had fused, giving him one thick digit to match his rapidly fattening others. Fumbling with the buttons on his cuffs, he gave up after he was unsuccessful in gripping the small fasteners to set them free. What could only be identified as black fur spilled out as the button popped, exposing his wrist and a portion of his forearm, all covered in the same sleek black fur as initially spotted on his hands. Turning his hands over to their palms, he went wide-eyed at the reason the fur was only creeping over portions of his palms. Pads. Thick pink pads now shone through the black fur, identifying clearly his four digits, and his palm. He flexed his fingers, trying to get a handle on what exactly was happening to him, when he caught sight of the short black claws protruding from the tips of his digits. As he watched, they pushed out to their full length of a quarter inch, with most of the length obscured by the fur on his fingers.

As he was busy being fixated on what could only be called his paws at this point, he neglected to pay attention to this rapidly tightening shirt on his upper body, which was now straining and creaking in ways obviously not planned on by the manufacturer. His right shoulder popped open under the pressure of the expanding fur against the stitching, exposing more of the velvety black surface to the cool air circulating through the rest room. Looking in the mirror at himself, he noticed the fur beginning to creep up his neck from his shoulders.

His mind raced: Why was this happening to him? How could he stop it? Most importantly, what was happening to him? He couldn’t understand the significance of black fur, or four thick digits on each hand. He gazed at his changing upper body reflecting back at him in the mirror, as his left shoulder finally broke free of the limits of his shirt. His sleeves were now the only things left on his arms, and they were rapidly tearing not only from the top down, but also from the bottom up.

Before he could react to his changed arms, the pressure became more pronounced in the tips of his toes. He felt his toes unconsciously curling, then relaxing, and curling again, putting an odd looking strain on the leather uppers of his new shoes. Clearly, the tightness of earlier was not a result of breaking in his new shoes. He watched silently as the top of his footwear began to stretch upward with each unconscious foot flex, the leather permanently discoloring and misshaping. He quickly sat down, inadvertently tearing what was surely the back of his shirt straight up to his collar, as he heard the now familiar fabric destruction sound he heard earlier with his shoulders. Before he could remove his footwear, the pressure was relieved with an odd ripping sound. The leather uppers separated from the sole at the stitching, allowing his toes to continue their activity unadulterated. He tugged on the now two-piece shoes he wore on each foot, trying to loosen the laces and lessen the pressure still existing in his ankles.

With no chance of slowing down or stopping what was happening to him, he figured he would try to make himself as comfortable as possible, which was downright impossible as he was unable to pinpoint what exactly would happen next! He began his effort by getting back to his still aching feet, unable to loosen or free himself from his own shoes, and was shocked to see himself in the mirror. Whatever was happening had made its way onto his head, and had replaced his hair with the same black fur he had witnessed everywhere else. Upon closer examination, he noted that the fur ended between his eyes on his forehead in a sharp, triangular widow’s peak. He noticed, while inspecting his head, that if he tilted his head forward, he was able to see a streak of white fur, which was in sharp contrast to the jet black fur he had seen elsewhere. It seemed to run from the front of his head, above his widow’s peak, to out of sight behind his head.

This was nuts! He grabbed at the front of his shirt, which was less reminiscent of what he had worn in to work that day, but rather seemed more like a prop left over from The Incredible Hulk. Intact were his buttons, however between each button all the way up to his unbuttoned collar spilled out white fur. He stuck a clawed digit between the first button, and it simply came free, the button bouncing around on the tile floor. He did the same for the remaining five, freeing his now white furred chest, giving him the first glimpse of what he thought was simply an itch due to poor air conditioning.

Looking at himself in the mirror once more, he watched in utter amazement as his nose slowly turned a dark black color, swelling and becoming wet. It began to upturn, and he heard a slight crunching noise, similar to what one would hear if they were busting up crackers for soup, however this was much louder to him, as it was happening directly in front of his face. Locked in to a stare with himself, he heard a loud crack, and watched, as white fur not only began to coat his face beginning at the base of his now black nose, blanketing his now crunching and reforming nose and mouth. In rapt fascination, he watched as his glasses slid from resting behind his ears to resting on his now fur covered cheeks. Shuddering a bit, his now expanded nose and mouth finished its extension with a final sickly pop. Looking directly cross-eyed at the tip of his nose, he realized that he could no longer look down at himself by simply shifting his eyes downward; instead, he was greeted with a short white muzzle, with a big black nose capping the end. Reaching a paw up to touch his newly formed appendage, something finally clicked in his brain.

Black fur. White fur. Skunk.

He panicked, wincing as he felt another surge hit his lower body. With no time to do anything, he nearly fell backward at the feeling in his toes. Leaning up against the tiled wall, he glanced down, only to find he was gazing down the length of his muzzle once more. Gone was the involuntary flexing, and present was an intense pressure, beginning at the rear of each of his feet, and ending at the tips of his toes, which upon pressing his muzzle against his fur covered chest, he was able to see three large, bulbous toe outlines through his weak cotton socks. As if on cue, a short claw ripped through each toe from left to right, further degrading the ability for his socks to continue to withhold what was surely a set of hind paws. He yelped loudly as the remainder of his laces popped one by one, freeing his socked feet from the confines of what was left of his new shoes. Although the least of his trouble, he couldn’t help but think of what a waste of money that was. Flexing his toes by choice this time, he watched the fabric of his socks give way, the occasional string of the tattered cotton foot covering becoming lodged between his large black fur covered toes, but quickly becoming dislodged by the growing length of his feet.

Further examination of himself in the mirror confirmed that he only had three claw tipped toes on each foot, both feet coated in the same velvet-soft fur as the rest of him. Raising one of his paws off the ground, he shook off the remainder of the tattered sock, giving a quick examination to the underside of his foot. The same pink pads greeted him as were on his hands: One on each toe, and one mid-sole, more than likely for gripping purposes, as the soft fur on the bottom of his feet would be counter-productive to walking across a smooth surface. Overwhelmed and exhausted from all that had happened to him, he took in a quick gasp of breath as something hit him once more. He felt a shiver run up and down his back, and soon after felt the familiar action of fur sprouting up through his pores. This is it, he thought to himself. The identifying marks. The identifying…

Before he could complete his own thought, he involuntarily lurched forward onto the sink, coming nearly muzzle-to-muzzle with his own reflection, close enough to create steam on the mirror from his heavy breathing through his big black nose. While against the mirror, he watched his ears reform carefully, while a pressure built in his tailbone. Distracted by his ears, he watched them slide to the top of his head, perfectly framing a swath of black and white fur, which could now be considered his hair. White fur filled the insides, while the outsides remained black. As they rounded themselves out, he was once again drawn to the intense pressure in his lower back as he heard a giant rip, which could only be the rear of his khaki pants giving way to the inevitable…

Leaning hard on his pads, which were the only things keeping him from sliding in to his reflection; he dug his short claws in to the Formica of the sink area as the pressure gave way in spurts. He likened it to electric charges running down his spine, each one ending at a destination previously unknown to his nervous system. Peeking over his shoulder, he was able to see past his large white fur covered cheek the anticipated appendage he knew was coming. Wincing and digging in to the counter again, he felt his tail push up and out. The feeling was unlike any he had experienced before. His body was in near overload, trying not only to map this new appendage, but also to contend with the mass amount of fur sprouting on it to match the rest of him. One final shudder shook him from the tips of his round ears to the base of his spine, then all the way up his forming tail, fluffing out the fur slightly.

Panting, he released his grip from the counter. He observed that he had left not only deep scratches on the counter, but also four neat holes where he gripped in the second time. Pulling his tail – he had to repeat to himself that it was, indeed, his tail – around to his field of vision, he saw the trademark double-stripe pattern of a skunk. Releasing it from his grip, it swung itself back in to position, curling back to the default position behind him.

Pressing his muzzle against his chest again, he took in the extent of the damage below him. Although badly ripped at the thighs, his pants were somehow still around his waist. He figured it was his belt still hanging on, so he once again brought a clawed digit to the weakened leather and pulled. Almost instantly, a soothing relief rushed down his thighs, as they widened a bit more, making his legs ever so slightly shorter and haunch-like. The legs of his pants were caught around his long black paws. Upon shaking his legs a bit, they slid off, landing in a pile near his tattered shirt and footwear.

He stood at the mirror, muzzle agape. He turned sideways to take in the full scope of his tail. He did have to admit that it did look rather attractive, especially when combined with the luxurious fur his entire body was covered in. He ran one of his paws through his ‘wedge’ of fur on the top of his head, and found it behaved much like his former hair.

But what was he to do?

He couldn’t leave the bathroom that was for sure. What would or could somebody say to a gigantic Pepe LePew look alike who was once one of their co-workers? He paced in the rest room, his claws ticking on the floor as he rubbed the underside of his muzzle, deep in thought. A knock came upon the door.

“Hey, what’s the big hold up in there?” Demanded the voice, “you fall in or somethin’?”

Chad panicked. He answered in the most calm voice a recently transformed human could muster:

“Eet weel be juhzt a min-u-out!”

Did he just say that? He cupped his paws over his muzzle, and tried again.

“I will emeairge as quick as quick as…’ow vous say ze rabbeet?”