The Magnus Protocol 35 - Terms and Conditions

Rusty Fears, our legendary horror writing competition, is back.

As with previous Rusty Fears competitions, seven winners will be chosen to have their stories performed, produced, and published right here on the Magnus Archives feed.

Choose a theme, write your story, and submit your entry before the 14th of December 2025.

To view the list of themes, find the submission form, and for T's and C's, go to rustyquill.com forward slash fears. That's rustyquill.com forward slash fears.

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This episode is dedicated to Oliver Kaminsky. It would be really funny if we gave you a job offer.

I mean, we've never met you or even heard of you before in our lives, but you give off this really specific vibe, even through just this message you wrote out for us to read to you.

It would be really funny if we offered you an acting position. For the bit.

We probably won't, though.

Rusty Quill presents

The Magnus Protocol

Episode Thirty Five Terms and Conditions

Etherna is a layer 2 protocol in the OSI LAN model that uses frames governed by

Etherna is a layer 2 protocol in the OSI LAN model that uses frames governed by CSMA-CD or CSMA-CA with VLANs using IEEE 802.1Q, all of which is monitored by SNMP, which is itself.

This is

what you get!

Going well?

You've got to assert yourself with textbooks. It's the only way they'll respect you.

I see.

I don't get it.

I just don't. Most of it's not even words, it's just stupid tech noise.

What are you even reading?

Ah.

I thought it might help.

Makes sense. Friend of mine used one to set up a podcast.
Windows 95 was the closest I could find. Turns out they don't sell a bullshit ancient man-eating evil databases for dummies.

That feels like an oversight.

Yeah, well, it wouldn't make a difference even if I did have it. Colin wasn't even writing in English by the end, and what I can figure out,

let's just say he was a few rounds short of a hard drive.

I don't think that works as a job. Yeah, I know.
How's things your end? Not much better, honestly. Did some more digging into the Magnus Institute.
And?

Just more alchemy stuff. What? Like lead into gold?

Among other things.

Seems like it was their big thing. But honestly, it feels like another dead end.
Keep trying. Alice.
Did you have any luck with Freddy?

Well, I did what you suggested, trawling old cases for anything familiar, and I did find something.

Oh, yeah. Yeah,

but I don't know how helpful it's gonna be.

HM Prison: Strange Ways in Make Records.

Entry, PBEW, 2023 0814 M69782TM Entry reads Parole Board for England and Wales Inmate M69782TM Hearing Date 14 August 2023 Site HM Prison Strangeways Manchester Transcript as follows Chair Morning all This hearing is convened as of 11.06am Monday 14th August 2023 to consider parole for inmate M69782TM, Mr.

Terence Menke of Strangeways Prison, held on multiple counts of murder, along with various associated crimes and misdemeanours. I am the panel chair, Mr.
Obadiah Quint.

To my left is our psychologist, Dr. Lindsay Harris, and to my right is Mr.
Alan Stolas of the Elric Rehabilitation Initiative, our independent for today. Stolas.
Good morning, Chair.

We're also joined by Mr. Menke's legal representative, Ms.
Felika Ross, along with Ms. Chloe Leahy, for the prosecution.
San Abeard as victim support and parole officer Connors Katsuj.

Oh, and Rune Laverne is sitting in as stenographer for today. Thank you, Mrs.
Laverne. Can I get confirmation from the panel before we proceed? Harris.
Confirmed. Stolas.
Looks good to me. Chair.

Excellent. In that case, let's hear opening statements from you, Ms.
Ross, when you're ready. Ross.
Thank you.

I must clarify, however, that rather than seeking parole today, my client has, in fact, expressed a desire not to be released at this time. Chair.
I see. I presume no objections to that, Miss Leahy?

Leahy. None at all.
I'll sue the crown. Chair.
And how about our advocate? Beard. We would have objected to any parole anyway.
Chair. Understandable in the circumstances.

In that case, does anyone have anything else to raise before we consult? Harris. I do.
Since Mr. Menke's arrest in February of 2000, he has shown no remorse for his actions.

In fact, in his most recent psychological evaluation, he was asked if he had any regrets. He replied, I hadn't finished yet.
Beard.

Christ.

Harris. If that's how he views his crimes, then it seems odd to me that he would wish to remain incarcerated.
Ross. I am given to understand that Mr.

Menke has been receiving threatening mail and fears acts of reprisal. Stolas.
There is a record of an investigation in his file. Lee.

That's true, but it was found that there was no credible threat. Menke.

No.

Chair. Mr.
Menke, you will speak only when directly addressed. Is that understood? Katsuj.
It was just some kid's draw rings. Menke.
That's not it. Chair.
Mr.

Ross, control your client or I will have him removed. Ross.
My apologies. Harris.
If I may? Chair. Proceed.
Harris. Mr.
Menke. Could you please tell us who you believe has threatened you? Chair.

You may answer the question, Mr. Menke.
Menke. Who won't believe me? Harris.
Answer the question, Mr. Menke.
Menke. It was sent to me by Mr.
Bonzo. Katsuge.
For Christ's sake. Beard.

Oh, I'm sorry, but this is obscene. We cannot let this hearing be used to mock his victims and their families.
Chair. Ms.

Ross, any further disrespect from your client and he will be ejected from these proceedings. Am I understood? Ross.
Of course. Stolas.
Mr.

Menke, could you tell us a bit more about your relationship with Mr. Bonzo? Beard.
Mr. Quit, will you please put a stop to this? Chair.
Where are you going with this, Alan? Stolas. Please, humour me.

Chair. Fine, but this is the last time, you understand? Answer the question, Mr.
Menke. Menke.
What would you like to know? Stolas. As much as you care to tell me.
Menke.

Okay.

Mr. Bonzo used to be everywhere growing up.
Like God.

He was like God in a lot of ways, really. He was always there, always had time for me.

He was dancing on the telly when dad lost his job, singing on the radio when things got worse and watching from the billboard outside when mum topped herself.

Dad liked to pretend he went to church but I used to pray to Bonzo. And he'd just smile and wave like normal but I knew, deep down, they heard me.

I remember he was making a huge omelette when I hammered dad's head in. There were smashed eggs all over the studio.

I remember laughing laughing because it was just so funny, both of us making such a mess. Wasn't a real one, though, you know, just kids' stuff.
But still, I thought maybe he'd be proud of me.

My first proper try won't much better, of course. I was still finding my feet, barely had a costume, just a mask really, with these big wobbly ears.
But you have to start somewhere, don't you?

And when I looked on the TV that Saturday night, there he was as always. This time he was breaking violins and the audience kept yelling, practice mates, perfect.

That was when I knew that he knew and we both laughed and laughed as the audience cheered us on.

Next one was much better. I did it with a father Christmas costume I bought in Woolworths and I put down some pasta to catch a spray.

I knew he was impressed because that Saturday he did a double length Christmas special.

We could have gone on like that forever I think. My costumes weren't all that, not like his, but they didn't have to be.
You just do your bonzo best.

But then I went and and spoiled it all for a stupid joke. I wanted to surprise him for a change, really give him a giggle.
And I guess maybe I thought I'd earned it.

I spent ages on the costume, made it myself from scratch. None of that cheap kids rubbish, I wanted it to be proper.

But it was going to be tricky. This time it wasn't enough to just do it, I needed people to see it happen.

That way they'd think it was him and then I could take the mask off and he would realise it was me all along. He'd see me, he'd finally see me properly and we'd laugh and laugh and laugh.

I got it done easy enough. Don't really remember much about it, to be honest.
Judge told me I used a crowbar and I don't think he'd lie about it.

Anyway, everyone was screaming and running and I could barely stand for laughing and that was when the filth tackled me.

I mean what are the chances a couple of random coppers just happened to be walking by at that exact moment. But honestly.
If anything, it just made the whole thing funnier.

I tried to stand and shake him off but I couldn't stop laughing. Besides, the suit was really bulky and I couldn't really see very well.
It was tight though. Tighter than it had felt when I put it on.

I could barely breathe and it was slick inside. I must have been sweating buckets.

Obviously I didn't get to see Bonzo at night because I was locked up. I asked for a TV but he just told me to shut up.
I knew I'd get to see him eventually though. After all, he was Mr.
Bonzo.

He was everywhere. Or at least he had been.
But as weeks went by, it was like he disappeared. He won't on the radio anymore, one on TV, and they took down his billboards.

It was like everyone had decided to pretend he'd never existed. I honestly started to feel like I was going crazy.
That was why I yelled at Mr. Dickerson in the trial.

I thought if anyone knew where he'd gone, it would be his best mate, but he just got angry and said horrible things about me. That was when I started to worry.
What if he hadn't found it funny?

What if he was insulted? What if he was angry?

I wanted to find him, to tell him I was sorry, to let him know I would never do anything to upset him, but that was when they put me here.

I tried explaining it to him, but every time I did I just ended up back in solitary, so eventually I just stopped trying.

I did get some letters from fans at first, but that soon stopped. I don't know, it was weird.
I don't think they wanted to talk about Mr. Bonzo at all.

Eventually I got used to being in here. I was not so bad at the end of the day.
Didn't have much of a life outside anyway. But then the letter started again, only this time it wasn't from fans.

At first I thought it was something from the lawyers, maybe to do with parole since I had my name and a number on the envelope, but the paper was yellow with orange flecks and it had a massive thumbprint on the corner in purple ink.

I saw that and I knew what it was, who it was from. I was shaking so much I couldn't even open it.

Just holding it felt like, I don't know, like blasphemy, but the guards had already opened it, so after a while I just peeled it apart and looked inside. It was an old Mr.

Bonzo car, but I couldn't tell what type, because everything was scratched off the front, apart from his face, which was staring up at me. I was so happy to see him after all these years.

To finally be seen again, but his face was wrong. Instead of his happy, googly eyes, these were fixed in place, staring at me.
And he wasn't smiling. He looked...

angry.

The car was was warped, so it took a moment to prize it open, but once I had, I found a message scrolled inside in childish letters with smudged purple ink. Just one line.
Mr. Bonzo's on his way.

I wanted to tell someone, but last time I said his name, they put me in solitary, so... kept quiet didn't I?

The next one arrived a few weeks later. This one was larger and got a bit of attention when it came through.
Looked like it was one of those big cards for a big birthday.

The kind where someone's friends and family would be there. I didn't want to take it, but they insisted, so I carried it back to bed and opened it in there alone.

Same paper, same purple ink on the envelope, even more smudge this time, and it was difficult to pull the card out as it was so bent, as if it had been wetted, then dried.

Mr Bonzo was there again, staring at me through the scratches on the cover with those fixed, angry eyes. Bigger card meant I could see all the details, and I could see Mr Bonzo weren't just angry.

He was furious.

I was travelling all over when I opened the card and found that child writing inside.

He wants to stay.

The last one came a few days ago. He was enormous.
I had to sign a special form to get it and everything.

Felt like I was looking at one of those big charity checks he used to give out and hit people over the head with and there was so much purple ink that it looked like he'd spilled paint.

I needed help to pull the mangled card out and our hands were all covered in the ink which was somehow still wet.

Almost all of it was destroyed leaving only those eyes and his huge mouth which was open, wide and deep.

I didn't need to open it to know what was written inside but the people helping insisted. The paper was gouged with the force that it had been marked.

More stabbed than written but I could still make out the words. He wants to play with you.

Since then I've been trying to stay in solitary as much as possible. It's better, thicker walls, stronger gates, but it won't help.
I love Mr.

Bonzo with all my heart, but I don't think he likes me anymore. Mr.
Bonzo's on his way. He wants to stay.

He wants to play with me.

Chair. Right.
Well, uh, Ms. Ross, is any of this true? The cards, I mean? Ross.
I'm not entirely sure. I was informed he'd received some strange mail, but nothing like that.
Stolas. Thank you, Mr.

Menke. That's all I needed to hear.
Chair. Right.
Well, in that case, Stollas. I would like to formally recommend Mr.
Menke for referral to the Elric Rehabilitation Initiative as soon as possible.

Chair. Alan.
Stolas. He's a perfect candidate, and I think we could do a lot with him.
Beard. I'm sorry, but this is completely unacceptable.
Lee.

The Crown cannot condone this. Menke.

No. Ross.
Sit down, Mr. Menke.
Makey. He's on his way.
Chair. I warned you, Mr.
Menke. Menke.

He wants to play with me. Chair.
Get him out of here. Katsuge.
Watch out, he's got... Ross.
Mr. Menke, what? Transcription ends due to interruption.

I'll tell you the same thing I told Sam.

Some bureaucrat misfiled some paperwork a hundred years ago, and now we're just running out the clock every night, trapped in some weird, overlooked legacy department.

It's funny. I used to take comfort in that, knowing that we were on our own.
But there must be patterns. Nope.
What? No commonalities between cases?

I mean, the system has, what, two or three thousand classifications? Some of them must come up more often, I guess. Sure, but they're all all so precise.

Have you never tried to sort them into themes like darkness or disease or being buried alive or something? Why would I do that? Besides, I'd say being buried alive is pretty bloody specific.

Okay, but not just literally buried alive. Metaphorically, too.
Like stuff about being crushed in a vice or

in debts, maybe.

I don't know what you want from me, Celia. I've never noticed anything like that.
Until recently, it was just pointless happening all the way down.

Speak of the devil. What now?

Sorry. I'm a bit repressed.
Stressed.

Pull up a pew. What?

Bump. Seat.

Coffee? No.

Thank you.

So, what happens now? This is pretty much it. Misery, company, etc.

Right.

So, what is wrong?

It's Lena's handover. I was able to recover some old emails, but they're not exactly helpful.

No, not really. It's just going on and on about how important it is to balance the books.

Alice, do you know if someone named William Price ever worked here? If he did, it was before my time.

Hang on. Bill Price.
And he wants to balance the books. That's got to be a fake name, right? I don't know.
There was this woman who worked at my local Barclays called Laura of Money.

Either way, I don't think they're actually talking about budgeting. Gwen, listen.

There's absolutely no shame in struggling with a new role. Exactly.

Unless, of course, you just weaseled your way into it by betraying the one person who might actually have known what was going on and are now slowly going mad, trapped in your office as everything collapses around us.

In that case, there's probably quite a lot of shame.

Good talk.

Just a big steaming pile of shame.

What? I don't think that was helpful.

It helped me.

What the hell is

Teddy? Oh,

hi, Alice.

Sorry.

Good. That hurt.

What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in weeks. There's been so much going on and.

And you don't need to hear about that right now.

How have you been? What's with all the uh tech? I was going to say shattered effigies of 20th century hubris, but sure, let's go with tech. Yeah, it is a bit out of date, isn't it?

You look like you're scrapping my primary school's computer room. It's just stuff with a new job.
You know. You found something then? Oh, yeah.

Anything exciting? It's fine. Lots of fetching and carrying with a bit of tech support, but it pays alright.

How's stuff back at the old haunts? Honestly,

pretty bad. You got out at the right time.
New guy still holding up?

He, uh, he moved on. Hmm.
That's a shame. I kind of liked him.

Well, listen, I should probably get going. Don't want to keep people waiting on on their uh equipment.
No, yeah, of course.

Look after yourself, Teddy. You two,

sure.

I'm sorry. I'm on my way, okay? It it won't happen again.

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. Newell and directed by Alexander J.
Newell.

This episode was written by Alexander J. Newell and edited with additional materials by Jonathan Sims,

with vocal edits by Nico Vitesse, soundscaping by Meg McKellar and mastering by Catherine Rinella with music by Sam Jones.

It featured Billy Hindel as Alice Dyer, Anusha Battersby as Gwen Bouchard, Lori Ann Davis as Celia Ripley, Kazim Tozinamo as Teddy Vaughan, with additional voices from Alexander J. Newell.

The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner with executive producers Alexander J. Newell, Danny McDonough, Lynn C.

and Samantha F. G.
Hamilton, and associate producers Jordan L. Hawke, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius de Raven and Megan Nice.

To subscribe, view associated materials or join our Patreon, visit rustyquill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at the RustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us via mail at rustyquill.com.

Thanks for listening.

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