Jaxon was odd. He liked that. Some people even would call him crazy. He liked that too. His name was odd too, though he didn't like that. He hated his name because he thought of it as the only part of oneself that one has no control over. His mother had said that she had been drunk when she had named him. Jaxon knew that was a lie. His mother had never been drunk in her life. She had never experienced the wild, confusing, freeing feeling of drunkenness. He knew his mother had never lived. He knew she had missed out. He liked that. Jaxon was normal for the most part. He did well in school, but never better. He made friends, but never good ones. Jaxon had his fair share of accidents, maybe more. He now lived in a small apartment. He worked as an accountant for a small fashion design company. He hated fashion. But it was the only job available for an accountant at the time. He tried his best to steer clear of all that fashion crap, but every once in a while, like today, he was forced to stomach a small amount. When the company he worked for lacked the need for accounting work, they set him on the job of fabric sorting. He and a co-worker would sit in the damp, musky basement and sort out the different fabrics. New fabrics and sometimes fabrics from storage. He learned what kinds of fabric are used for what kinds of clothing, though he hated it. Today he and his co-worker Stacey were sorting storage fabrics. He hated Stacey. She was frivolous, weak, and made too many jokes. He preferred to work in silence. OW! As he had been opening one of the damp delivery bins, he had stabbed his finger on an errant nail, drawing blood. "Are you alright?" Stacey asked worriedly. Jaxon glared at her with his thumb in his mouth. "Leamme lone" he mumbled through his finger. She asks too many questions thought Jaxon. Plenty of people thought him irritable, rude, and sometimes mean. He liked that. Later on, he stumbled onto a peculiarly labeled parcel. "Janus Corp." He read aloud. The logo, an eye, took up most of the box, obscuring partially the information neatly printed on the corner. Stacey ambled over, her legs sore from the uncomfortable office chairs. Weak. "100% organic material" Stacey read. "Why don't they specify?" she asked, perplexed. As always. He flipped open the box, sending dust and particles flying. "Ew! It's so ugly." Stacey muttered. In the box sat a dress, a malicious dress. Jason wasn't sure what made him feel that way, but the dress felt evil. He liked that. He ran the box's numbers through the system but found nothing. So, as was protocol, he took it home with him that night. He wanted to do more research on the box and its contents. When he was back home, casually picking through out-of-the-box mac n' cheese, he found some interesting things. Though he found nothing on the specific box, he found lots on the company. Janus Corp. had been founded by a former Walmart employee with lottery winnings, it said on the site.

COVER STORY

Jaxon opened his eyes. Why were my eyes closed? He thought. In front of him was his computer. On it's screen was a site. A government site by the looks of it. Wait, did I fall asleep? Jaxon asked himself. His eyes felt cold, in fact, most of him felt cold. "Business Formation Application" Read the top line. How do I have access to this? he wondered. It detailed how some bloke was asking to formally start a business. Suddenly He was looking at the man's profile, a page focused on his criminal record and business dealings. It showed how he had been investigated for some charges of kidnapping and murder that had been immediately dropped.

LIES

He was now looking at a missing persons report. The name at the top read "Oliver Creedence" some crack-pot reporter who went crazy and disappeared. There seemed to be a few connections between him and Janus Corp, but they seemed insubstantial. Jaxon looked over to the box. What color was the dress? Well that's odd. He flipped open the box only to find a button down shirt, exactly the kind he wore. Woah. I should be scared. Jaxon thought, but he wasn't. He liked that. He ran his thumb, still crusted with dried blood, along the edge of the folded shirt. There was a sharp THP! noise and a fruity scent filled the air. he flinched and drew his hand away from the box. The stinging gradually faded into a dull throbbing. The blood was gone, and there was no sign of a wound. The throbbing abruptly changed into an odd numbness. The garment somehow felt more present. More vibrant. More alive. He liked that. The next day he wore it to work. Jaxon didn't know why, he just had to. The numb feeling in his thumb didn't go away, in fact, it slowly spread to his hand. eventually, Jaxon was dropping things regularly. It felt as if he was moving his fingers through a thick slushy. Cold and sticky. The next day he wore the shirt again. he didn't mean to. The numb feeling gradually spread up his arm, starting to appear in the fingers of the opposite hand and his toes. He wasn't worried, or was he? Jaxon didn't know. One day at work Jaxon was accounting. The specifics of this action escape him because as he was sitting in his chair, he had a thought. What if he too-

YOU DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME

Jaxon was on the floor. It felt like someone had shot the idea into his brain with a twelve gauge shotgun. He felt faint. The Thought somehow felt more present than him, more alive. He ran out of the building, an action made difficult by the now rapidly spreading numbness. Why don't I just take off th-

YOU CANNOT RUN

Jaxon staggered up against a wall. He couldn't run. He slid down the wall into a sitting position. The numbness spread faster. he could feel his lungs and stomach grow cold. It crawled all the way to his neck. And then, he hear the voice clearly. It explained. He knew it was hopeless. He liked that.