The Magnus Protocol 28 - Interruptions

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There is so much in this world to be afraid of, but in examining that fear, we can find wonder.

Rusty Quill presents

The Magnus Protocol

Episode twenty-eight Interruptions

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

So I see.

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

Good to meet you.

Uh, thank you, Minister.

Fine work.

Cheers.

Lovely cheat.

Pardon me, sorry.

Honestly, I don't know how you managed to get anything done on such late shifts.

You get used to it.

Clearly, but it does seem unnecessary.

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 into this schedule.

We could amend the system, but the required infrastructure overhaul would be very expensive, and I.

We'll leave it as it is, I think.

If it ain't broken, don't fix it, eh?

Ha.

Besides, I wouldn't want to upset your team dynamic.

Ooh, such a diverse team it is, too.

I wonder if we should get in a photographer.

Put you in some civil service promotional material.

Oh, I doubt that would be necessary, Minister.

We're hardly the most interesting department.

Oh, well, I don't know about that.

So, um, anyway, uh...

Sam.

Sam.

How are the accident

incident numbers looking?

Going down, I hope?

Our numbers have been steadily improving ever since you took charge, Minister.

It's all detailed in my reports.

Glad to hear it.

The ONS has been sniffing around again, same old rubbish about overlapping responsibilities and synergistic fulfilment objectives.

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

Just as long as it keeps Gorman Smith off me back.

Was there anything else you wanted to see, Minister?

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

Excellent, Gwen.

If you'll follow me, Minister?

There you

go.

Was that it?

Hmm.

Something the matter, Minister?

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

Glad to hear it.

But it's reached a point where I'm forced to intervene.

May I ask why?

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

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

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

Pete, I went to Eaton with Daniel Turner, the commissioner.

He keeps me in the loop.

Do you know which

subcontractor it was?

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

She simply means that outside of their specific work with us, we don't keep close track of our external workers and haven't been made aware of this.

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?

I'm afraid not.

Then you're either lying or woefully out of touch.

Neither fills me with confidence.

Minister.

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

You have my absolute assurances, that's.

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.

Who would that be?

Gwen, outside.

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

Otherwise.

Otherwise?

Gwen.

Otherwise, I'll leave it to your discretion.

I'll see what I can do.

Good.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it is very late.

Good, great.

I told you.

I told you.

You did.

You didn't believe me, though, did you?

Oh, no.

You all thought, oh, Alice is joking, she's exaggerating, she's indulging in a touch of comic hyperbole.

I admit, I was skeptical.

That was right, wasn't I?

I was right.

I was sure he'd at least have a vague idea about what he did.

Just like the faintest inkling.

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

Oh, that's not very fair, Sam.

Not when he was so keen to spend time chatting with such a diverse group of folks.

Oh my god.

I almost forgot.

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

Ew.

What about you, Celia?

You feel like a little diverse?

I don't know.

Does being a woman still count?

I mean, it's hardly a centrefold of civil service weekly.

Pan?

I mean, it's better.

Are you from anywhere particularly exciting?

That might do do it.

You have no idea.

Of course, I forgot your mysterious origins.

Anyway, I reckon Gwen and Lena are going to be cleaning up after Mr.

Minister for a while yet, so I'm going to bounce.

Bit early, isn't it?

I've heard it.

Besides, I'm grabbing some drinks with Teddy.

For the morning.

Ask not for whom the insomnia tolls, my dear.

Cover for me if Lena asks.

Always.

Alright, peace.

Well, we should probably be heading back to work.

Wait a second.

What's up?

I know you value your privacy, and I respect that.

Good.

But at some point, you're going to need to stop deflecting any time your class 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

locked down

right

all I ask is you think about it

I will 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 cry good to know

now if you'll excuse me I need to go check what car the right honourable ticket is picked up in Alice that meant it's going to be a Bentley you're lucky you didn't bet more I know all right

see you in that

sure

Complete bloody shackles.

Home Wilson before anyone else.

Uh minister.

Oh, right.

Hello, uh.

Gwendolyn, Bouchard.

Bouchard.

Not Jeremy's granddaughter.

That's right.

Ah, right.

I see the resemblance now.

How is the old bastard?

He's alright, I think.

We haven't spoken in a few years.

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.

Thank you, Minister.

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

Well, you have my office number, so you just call up and the admin girls will...

Lena's lying to you.

About what?

This contractor business.

It happened because she made a mistake.

And it's not the first time either.

Here, I've compiled a dossier of confidential files stretching back almost 20 years, detailing Lena's incompetence and malfeasance as head of the OIAR.

It's all on this drive.

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

They were sent to me by a

concerned third party who wishes to remain anonymous.

I see.

These are serious accusations.

I'm aware.

Very well.

Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Bouchard.

Good to see that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.

Oh,

yes.

Thank you.

This is my direct number.

Don't bother with the office.

I'm never there.

You see anything else malfeasant?

You give me a call.

Understood.

I'll be in touch.

Oh, Christ,

Trevor, Herbert, and D.

What do you drive?

Ah, damn it,

Gwen,

Gwen

damn it!

Brilliant!

Absolutely...

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

I remember they were beaming, full of pride and satisfaction as they read out the letter.

Selected to apply for our gifted child program.

I

was so happy

that I had pleased them.

That I was what they had wanted.

That I was

special.

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 Spider-Man with Saul on the way and compared Bogs, although the train was too bumpy to actually play.

Joy wanted to play as well, but she was a girl and that was a 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 60s, all decaying concrete and decayed optimism.

But this...

this felt old, like I had only seen in movies.

I'd 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.

Lang had to gently pull me by the sleeve to get me to go in.

It smelled 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 young-ish face, even though he was dressed like a headmaster.

He spoke with a big fake smile like a kids 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 as 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.

Lang 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 grown-up.

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 lights spilling out from inside.

I should have known that the color 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 grown-up.

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 from inside as though they were a person trapped in 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, reached back, and dug its bony fingers through the man's clothes and into his chest, ripping off a gory 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.

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'm going back

to find

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 Jonathan Sims and edited with additional materials by Alexander J.

Newell,

with vocal edits by Lorian Davis and Nico Vitesi, soundscaping by Tessa Vroom and mastering by Catherine Rinella with music by Sam Jones.

It featured Billy Hindle as Alice Dyer, Shahan Hamza as Samana Khalid, Anusha Battersby as Gwen Bouchard, Lori Ann Davis as Celia Ripley, with additional voices from Beth Ayre.

The Mangus 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 Pillman, Cetius DeRaven 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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