Interruptions

ANNOUNCER

This episode is dedicated to Nathaniel Shawver – Fear has shaped my perspective and actions for so long, but the immersive descriptions of the fears in Magnus showed me that I can choose to accept what I Fear as part of myself rather than feeling shame. There is so much in this world to be afraid of, but in examining that Fear we can find wonder.

[Intro Theme]

ANNOUNCER

Rusty Quill Presents: The Magnus Protocol.

Episode Twenty-Eight – Interruptions.

[Music]

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[The O.I.A.R. microphone starts up; we hear lots of typing]

[Footsteps enter:]

LENA

And here, minister, is the main office, where the majority of the processing takes place.

TREVOR

So I see.

GWEN

And this is Sam, Alice and Celia, our primary processing team.

TREVOR

Good to meet you.

SAM

Uh, thank you, minister.

TREVOR

Fine work.

ALICE

Mmm. Cheers.

TREVOR

Lovely to –

[He is cut off by a massive yawn.]

TREVOR

Pardon me, sorry. I honestly don’t know how you manage to get anything done on such late shifts.

CELIA

You get used to it.

TREVOR

Clearly, but it does seem unnecessary…

LENA

(jumping in) The data processing and amalgamation tools are locked into a 24-hour cycle. The crawlers scrape online sources during the day, then once the nationals pre-publish the data is incorporated into the caseloads, meaning we’re locked into this schedule. We could amend the system, but the required infrastructure overhaul would be very expensive and –

TREVOR

Best leave it as it is, I think. If it isn’t broken don’t fix it, eh?

ALICE

(muttered) Ha…

TREVOR

Besides, I wouldn’t want to upset your team dynamic. And such a diverse team it is too… I wonder if we should get in a photographer, put you all on some civil service promotional material.

LENA

(slightly strained) Oh I doubt that won’t be necessary, minister. We’re hardly the most interesting department.

TREVOR

Oh well, I don’t know about that. So anyway, uh –

GWEN

(quietly) Sam.

TREVOR

Sam! How are the, er, accident –

GWEN

(quietly) Incident.

TREVOR

– incident numbers looking? Going down, I hope!

SAM

Uh…

LENA

Our numbers have been steadily improving ever since you took charge, minister. It’s all detailed in my reports.

TREVOR

Glad to hear it. The ONS has been sniffing around again, same old rubbish about overlapping responsibilities and “synergistic fulfillment objectives”…

LENA

Well hopefully our latest metrics should assuage any concerns in that department.

TREVOR

Just as long as it keeps Gorman-Smith off me back…

[He yawns again.]

LENA

Was there anything else you wanted to see, minister?

TREVOR

No, no, no, I think we can move on.

LENA

Excellent. Gwen?

GWEN

If you’ll follow me, minister.

[Trevor, Lena and Gwen leave.]

[There is a moment of silence.]

CELIA

Was that it?

ALICE

Oh for fu–

[Beep]

---

[Door shuts as Lena, Gwen and Trevor enter]

[Lena sits down behind her desk]

LENA

Thank you very much for joining us this evening, minister. I do hope it met your expectations.

TREVOR

Mmmm.

LENA

Something the matter, minister?

[He takes a deep breath as if to enter a pre-prepared speech]

TREVOR

Look, Lena, I’ve know you’ve had a lot of leeway running of this department with previous ministers, and god knows I prefer a hands-off approach –

LENA

Glad to hear it.

TREVOR

But it’s reached the point where I am forced to intervene.

LENA

May I ask why?

TREVOR

Because I am hearing from reliable sources that one of your subcontractors has been implicated in a recent death, possibly even as a murder suspect.

[Beat.]

LENA

Gwen, can I ask you to wait outside, please.

[Reluctant footsteps as Gwen starts moving to the door slowly]

LENA

Minister, if I may, we both know that the rumor mill surrounding –

TREVOR

Skip it. I went to Eton with Daniel Turner, the Commissioner. He keeps me in the loop.

GWEN

Do you know which, uh, subcontractor it was?

TREVOR

I’m sorry, do you hire a lot of murderers for contract and consultancy work?

LENA

(intervening) She simply means that outside of their specific work with us, we don’t keep close track of our external workers and hadn’t been made aware of this.

TREVOR

So you’re telling me you know nothing about an OIAR external contract being found with the bodies of two tattooed thugs who met rather grisly ends?

[Gwen and Lena realise he’s talking about Ink5oul. Trevor doesn’t notice.]

LENA

I’m afraid not.

TREVOR

Then you’re either lying or woefully out of touch. Neither fills me with confidence.

LENA

Minister –

TREVOR

I was able to talk to Danny and keep this quiet for now, but I need to know that there’s no liability here, either legal or, uh, reputational.

LENA

You have my absolute assurances that –

TREVOR

No. Not good enough. I need someone’s head to roll, so if it does come back to bite me I can say that those responsible have been removed from their post.

GWEN

W-who would that be?

LENA

Gwen, outside.

[Gwen doesn’t move.]

TREVOR

If you can find out who that contract came from, then fire them. Otherwise…

GWEN

Otherwise?

LENA

Gwen.

TREVOR

Otherwise, I leave it to your discretion.

LENA

(pointed) I’ll see what I can do.

TREVOR

Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s very late.

---

[Beeps as the CCTV whirs on]

[Sam, Alice, and Celia are stood around, drinking coffee and laughing]

CELIA

Good grief.

ALICE

I told you. I told you.

SAM

You did.

ALICE

But you didn’t believe me, did you? Oh no! You all thought, “Oh, Alice is joking, she’s exaggerating, she’s indulging in touch of comic hyperbole–”

CELIA

I admit I was… skeptical.

ALICE

But I was right, wasn’t I? I. Was. Right.

CELIA

I was sure he’d at least have a vague idea about what we did. Just, like, the faintest inkling.

SAM

At least this way we don’t need to talk to him.

ALICE

Oh, that’s not very fair, Sam. Not when he was so keen to spend time chatting with such a “diverse” group of folks.

SAM

Oh my god, I almost forgot!

ALICE

I personally love to be diverse and think they should absolutely send a photographer down to capture me diversing all over the place.

SAM

(laughing) Ew.

ALICE

What about you, Celia? You feeling a little diverse?

CELIA

Oooooh, I dunno. Does being a woman still count?

ALICE

I mean, it’s hardly centrefold of Civil Service Weekly.

CELIA

Pan?

ALICE

I mean, it’s better. Are you from anywhere particularly exciting? That might do it.

CELIA

You have no idea…

ALICE

Ah, of course, I forgot your mysterious origins.

[The good humour fades a little]

ALICE

Anyway, I reckon Gwen and Lena are going to be cleaning up after Mr “Minister” for a while yet, so I’m gonna bounce.

CELIA

Bit early isn’t it?

ALICE

I’ve earned it. Besides, I’m grabbing some drinks with Teddy.

[Alice begins to pack as she speaks.]

SAM

In the morning?

ALICE

Ask not for whom the insomnia tolls, my dear. Cover for me if Lena asks?

SAM

Always.

ALICE

Alright. Peace!

[Footsteps as Alice leaves]

[Beat.]

CELIA

Well, we should probably be heading back to work.

SAM

Wait a second.

CELIA

What’s up?

SAM

I know you value your privacy and I respect that –

CELIA

Good.

SAM

But at some point you’re going to need to stop deflecting anytime your past comes up. Don’t get me wrong, it’s your business, you don’t need to tell me anything you don’t want to, but… I can only get so close with you when you keep so…

CELIA

So…

SAM

…locked down.

CELIA

Right.

SAM

All I ask is you think about it.

CELIA

I will.

SAM

Take your time, I’m in no rush. And like I said, if you decide you don’t want to share then I won’t pry.

CELIA

Good to know.

SAM

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check what car the right honorable dickhead is picked up in. Alice bet me a tenner it’s going to be a Bentley.

CELIA

You’re lucky you didn’t bet more.

SAM

I know right? See you in there.

CELIA

Sure.

[Sam departs. Celia remains.]

---

[Dial-up tones: a phone begins recording]

[We’re outside. The rain is coming down in sheets. Thunder rumbles in the distance]

TREVOR

(a little distant) – complete bloody shambles. Home, Wilson before anyone else –

GWEN

Uh, minister?

[Footsteps as Gwen walks up to him. Trevor’s voice is clearer now.]

TREVOR

Oh, right, hello, uh…

GWEN

Gwendolyn. Bouchard.

TREVOR

Boucha– Not Jeremy’s granddaughter?

GWEN

That’s right.

TREVOR

Ha! Right, I see the resemblance now. How is the old bastard?

GWEN

He’s all right, I think. We haven’t spoken in a few years.

TREVOR

I see. Well, I wouldn’t say it’s been a pleasure but it’s good to know there’s at least one person here with some quality.

GWEN

Thank you, minister. Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.

TREVOR

(reluctantly) Well you have my office number, so you just call up and the admin girls will –

GWEN

Lena’s lying to you.

[Beat.]

TREVOR

(suddenly focused) About what? This contractor business?

GWEN

It happened because she made a mistake. And it’s not the first time either. Here.

[Fabric rustles as she hands him something]

GWEN

I’ve compiled a dossier of confidential files stretching back almost twenty years detailing Lena’s incompetence and malfeasance as head of the OIAR. It’s all on this drive.

TREVOR

And how exactly did you happen to stumble across these “confidential” files?

GWEN

They were sent to me by a… concerned third party who wishes to remain anonymous.

TREVOR

I see. These are serious accusations.

GWEN

I’m aware.

TREVOR

Very well. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms Bouchard. Good to see the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.

GWEN

Oh, yes. Thank you.

TREVOR

This is my direct number. (fabric rustling) Don’t bother with the office, I’m never there. You see anything else “malfeasant,” you give me a call.

GWEN

Understood.

TREVOR

I’ll be in touch.

[He shuts the door and the car pulls away, leaving Gwen standing in the rain.]

[She takes a deep, steadying breath.]

---

[A tape recorder clicks on]

[We’re still outside; the rain is still gusting down]

[Door opens]

SAM

Oh Christ! Alright, Trevor Herbert MP, what do you drive…

[He spots the car driving off]

SAM

Ah, dammit.

…Gwen?

(calling) Gwen!

[He takes a step forward. The door slams shut behind him.]

SAM

Dammit!

[He bangs on the door a couple of times]

[There is a deep indrawn breath near the recorder]

SAM

Brilliant. Absolutely – The first time I ever heard of the Magnus Institute was from my parents.

[He stops, gasping for breath, confused]

[There is another indrawn breath beside the tape deck]

SAM

(compelled) I remember they were beaming, full of pride and satisfaction as they read out the letter: “selected to apply for our gifted child program.”

[He again gasps for breath, panicking]

[The Archivist emerges]

ARCHIVIST¹

MORE.

SAM

(fighting it) I… Was… so happy… that I had pleased them, that I was what they had wanted…

ARCHIVIST

MORE.

SAM

…that I was… special…

[The world recedes as Sam’s statement is pulled from him, leaving only his voice and the Archivist’s indulgent breath.]

SAM

I was so excited. It was my first ever train trip alone. Alone apart from Saul and Joy, the two other children invited from my school and Mrs Leng who was supervising us for the trip to Manchester.

The journey from London was magical. A whole two days off school with nothing to prepare or study or revise since the Institute wouldn’t say what kind of tests we were going to be doing. I talked about Spiderman with Saul on the way and compare pogs, although the train was too bumpy to actually play. Joy wanted to play as well, but she was a girl and that was big deal. I still feel bad for that but it wasn’t like we were mean to her or anything.

The thrill of the journey vanished the moment we arrived at the Magnus Institute. My school and the estate I grew up on were both built in the sixties, all decaying concrete and decayed optimism, but this, this felt old like I had only seen in movies. I had learned a new word that week. Austere. This felt austere. And as we stepped into the building’s shadow, I tried to hang back, so Mrs Leng had to gently pull me by the sleeve to get me to go in.

It smelt funny, sort of like my local library but more proper and the tall, barred windows let in little light. The place weighed on me like a heavy winter coat.

We were met at the entrance by a man called Gilbert. He was very thin, with mousy brown hair and a youngish face even though he dressed like a headmaster. He spoke with a big fake smile, like a kid’s TV presenter and led us into a large room full of big chairs and old sofas, which was packed full of other kids. It seemed so strange to me that such a grand room would be filled with so many screaming, running children and I think all the adults felt the same. Gilbert left as quick as possible after showing us in.

I was one of the first to be tested, and I was especially nervous when I met the pair of stern-looking older women. They looked me up and down with thin lips and arched eyebrows, and I felt like I’d already failed without even taking the test.

They sat me down on a carved wooden chair that was far too big for me, my feet dangling over the edge uncomfortably. Then they began to ask me questions. But not like I was expecting at all. It wasn’t maths or reading or history or science it was more like when I was sent to the school nurse in year two after biting another kid in an argument. “Was I happy at home?” “What do I do when I feel angry or upset?” “When is it okay to lie?”

I answered as best I could, but the women looked unhappy and it felt like I was getting it all wrong and I started to feel cold and small and stupid. Then I started to cry.

I couldn’t help it. I knew I shouldn’t, that I was messing it up, but all the bad feelings that had been growing inside since we arrived just burst out. The women looked even more annoyed and so I leapt out of the chair, still crying, and ran out of the room before they could yell at me.

I ran and ran through the winding corridors, with no idea where I was going or what I was going to do. I didn’t want Mrs Leng to see me like this and tell my parents I’d been bad, but I didn’t want to be on my own in this strange, horrible building. Finally, I stopped in a dark corridor with no windows, no sign of the overcast day outside. I was lost. I was lost and I was alone and I was in so much trouble. I had to find a grownup.

So I started trying doors but they all seemed locked. Then I turned a corner and found an open door with the name Dr F Welling engraved on a brass plaque and bright light spilling out from the inside. I should have known that the colour of the light was wrong. I should have known from the chanting inside that this place wasn’t for me. But I was alone and I was afraid and I needed a grownup.

There was an old man in a tweed suit stood muttering in front of a table and on the table was a person. I couldn’t see their face but they were naked and pale and still. Beside the table was a pile of weird machines and strange shaped beakers bubbling and hissing and whirring. Large chunks of stone and metal hung slowly twisting in the air and the sickly yellow light seemed to come from everywhere. I stepped forward and spoke with my smallest indoor voice:

“Hello?”

That was all I said. That was all. I couldn’t have known.

He wasn’t expecting any interruption and I could see the surprise run through him, disrupting his concentration and making him stumble over his words for just a moment. It was just a moment, but in that moment the glass exploded the rocks fell and the yellow light vanished, sucked away as though into him.

We were thrown from dazzling brightness into deep darkness but I could just make him out as he turned towards me. He looked at me and opened his mouth, and I cowered, waiting for the yelling, for the punishment, but no words came out. He just opened his mouth wider and wider as if to scream, then reached out towards me.

But the flesh of his arm, the skin and muscle, it didn’t move. It was the bones, the bones that pushed and strained against from inside as though there were a person trapped inside a fleshy suit. His skin strained for a moment, then erupted in a spray of blood that swept across the floor, with a single drop landing on my new Velcro shoes.

The skeletal arm flailed outwards held together by a few dripping ligaments and leaking that awful yellow light from the joints. Then it bent and reached back and dug its bony fingers through the man’s clothes and into his chest, ripping off a gorey chunk and hurling it to the floor. In the silence of the room I heard the wet slap of the meat on the polished wooden floor and looking up I could see in the man’s eyes that he could feel everything even though he didn’t make a sound.

I stood there, frozen in shock and terror, and watched as the other arm thrust itself free from its meat, reached up and tore away his face in a single swift yank to reveal the ecstatic skull within. The last thing I saw was its dripping red smile before I turned and bolted from the room.

[The thunderstorm slowly begins to return.]

I don’t remember much after that. The stern ladies found me crying in a corner and pulled me back to the room with the other children. They gripped me too tightly but I didn’t say anything. I never told anyone what I saw. My parents just assumed I was upset after being rejected from the program, same as them. They were so disappointed, so sad to realize that I wasn’t Magnus Material. Just me, nothing special. I couldn’t look at them, but not just because of the shame, but because whenever I saw their faces I could see the outline of their skulls beneath, still grinning at me.

And now, I-I’m going back… to find… find…

[The sound of the thunderstorm comes back into focus as Sam is finally overcome and slumps to the floor]

[The archivist steps forward takes one last breath of Sam’s memory, then recedes]

[The tape recorder flounders in the rain, and stops.]

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[Music]

ANNOUNCER

The Magnus Protocol is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International License. The series is created by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall, and directed by Alexander J Newall.

This episode was written by Jonathan Sims and edited with additional materials by Alexander J Newall, with vocal edits by Lowri Ann Davies and Nico Vettese, soundscaping by Tessa Vroom, and mastering by Catherine Rinella with music by Sam Jones.

It featured Billie Hindle as Alice Dyer, Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid, Anusia Battersby as Gwen Bouchard Lowri Ann Davies as Celia Ripley, Sarah Lambie as Lena Kelley, with additional voices from Beth Eyre.

The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner, with executive producers Alexander J Newall, Dani McDonough, Linn Ci, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton, and Associate Producers Jordan L. Hawk, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius d’Raven, and Megan Nice.

To subscribe, view associated materials, or join our Patreon, visit rustyquill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us @therustyquill, visit us on facebook or email us at mail@rustyquill.com.

Thanks for listening.