The Magnus Archives - MAG 185 - Locked In

Episode Date: November 5, 2020

Case ########-25Please note: This episode is preceded by an extended introduction.An examination on the nature of Justice.Recorded by the Archivist in situ.Content warnings:While this episode is not directly about race or racial violence nor includes character death, it does explore general themes of wrongful imprisonment & abuses of power. Transcripts can be found here PDF: https://cutt.ly/DgYjMGZDOC: https://cutt.ly/ngYkepCPrison (inc SFX)DehumanisationWrongful imprisonment & victimisationPolice brutalityUncertain memory & distorted timeAbuse of powerPhysical violenceBullyingIsolationPleadingExplicit languageThanks to this week's Patrons: Jessica Specht, Natalie Logan, Emily Simmons, Paige Morgan, Clarissa Olivares, Lana Roberts, Emma, Rhiannon Thomas Bourne, Malibustacy, Regan Sanders, Christina, Sir Prahlegod, Trixie McGee, A Brain In A Bucket, Esther Phillips, Annie Shoes, Natasha Tomecek, Maglor, Saturn '- Lynnette, Amaranta Petty, Allison Perrone, Ari Shenanigans, PumkinMilk, McKensie Schepers, Anneka V. Brighton, Jasmine Zeelfreund, Ludo, Marguerite Coles, Katharine Forman, hellotrickster, Riley Alexandre, Rose Johnson, reubenpax, what if you were defenseless, Tara, Biff, The Thing Lurking In The Dirt Under The Streets Of Alexandria, Sarah Anderson, [tips fedora] J'archivist, logan austin, Jem strongeststars Malak, OnaDacora, alex, skyberia, Gabby Figueroa, Zoe Wright, Charlie Morgan Reed, Heather, Nebula Wood, Gillis Lowry and Taylor Jackson.Edited this week by Maddy Searle, Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J NewallWritten by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J NewallProduced by Lowri Ann DaviesPerformances:- "Martin Blackwood" - Alexander J. Newall- "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims- "The Inspector" - Richard DaviesSound effects this week by icmusic, dauser, rachyray, tontoepfer, CosmicEmbers, klankbeeld, Reitanna, RobertMThomas, brianbaltar, kd_jack, joanasjoan, felix.blume, ingudios, DWOBoyle, AcousticMemory, YleArkisto, Moulaythami, hargissssound, lwdickens, 13FPanska_Krug_Antonin, ultradust, Eneasz, kyles, rdneubauer, Anthousai, FngerSounds, nicktermer, nextmaking, kingsrow, SpliceSound, danielad, duckduckpony, datasoundsample, Adam_N, KomradeJack, LamaMakesMusic, conleec, mypantsfelldown, 14GPanskaHonc_Petr, leonelmail, SpliceSound, Cornwallis89, aglinder, vflefevre, volonda, scottemoil, Iceofdoom, audible-edge, BurghRecords, jmbphilmes, yadronoff, o_ciz, sturmankin & previously credited artists via freesound.org Additional sound effects from https://www.zapsplat.comCheck out our merchandise at https://www.redbubble.com/people/rustyquill/collections/708982-the-magnus-archives-s1You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting www.rustyquill.com/subscribePlease rate and review on your software of choice, it really helps us to spread the podcast to new listeners, so share the fear.Join our... Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

This is the first radio ad you can smell. The new Cinnabon pull-apart only at Wendy's. It's ooey, gooey, and just five bucks for the small coffee all day long. Taxes extra at participating Wendy's until May 5th. Terms and conditions apply. Hi, it's Johnny. We wanted to say a few words up top of the next episode. First up, it is definitely a heavy one, and it's worth reading through the content warnings and show notes before listening. This episode deals with authoritarianism, imprisonment, and the police as a tool of political repression by the state in a general sense. It is rooted in my own experiences and those of people close to me. To put it bluntly,

there is a reason that police violence is a subject that finds its way into a lot of my work. This episode was written as a sincere exploration of my own fears about the rise of authoritarianism and violent repression around the world. We also wanted to acknowledge that, on reflection, we believe this episode does blur the line between horror and trauma, depicting the awfulness of detainment and imprisonment without much fantastical distancing. Season 5 was always intended to explore more realistic fears through the medium of the hellscapes, but as our world has gotten darker, real-world fears and feelings have occasionally bled too directly into the writing of this series, and I believe that means I have broken my own rule of avoiding using trauma as a direct source of horror.

I apologise for this. We will be more careful in future with similar topics. From here on out, while characters will still fear and suffer and die as part of their stories, they should do so without the show dwelling quite so directly on real-world traumas. Thanks for listening. Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives Episode 185 Locked in. They have never told her what crime she has been arrested for.

She isn't even sure she was ever arrested. They had walked up to Tina in the street, as she was loading her car with shopping, and placed her hand on her shoulder gently, but with the certainty of gravity. Her fingertips still remembered the chill of the milk as she placed it in the boot of the old Toyota. She had smiled when she turned, reassured by the sight of the uniforms, and didn't even notice the sternness of their expression, or the fact that the faces beneath the helmets were identical. All day she had been feeling on edge, smelling the faintest hint of something rotten on the wind. Had it been her imagination? Had it been her imagination? No. Others had sensed it too, she was sure of it. In the shops she had seen them, eyes darting nervously, fingers drumming incessantly on trolley handles, waiting for whatever was coming. And all day that intense, unshakable feeling that she was being watched. So when she turned and saw them standing there so official in their vests and

helmets, what else was she to think? Ah, thank goodness it flitted through her mind as Tina felt herself relax. Whatever it is, someone is taking care of it. Because that's what they were for. To take care of these problems, to shuffle people away for their own protection and keep the world working as it should be. She smiled, even as the shadowed figure did not remove his hand from her shoulder. Hello, officer. How can I help? I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us, they had said, as the sky above them began to change.

And then she was here. Tina didn't remember the journey, not properly. There was an image of the backseat of a car, bruised face pressed against metal grating wrists, pinched so tight by metal she could feel every beat of her pulse. Or was it the back of her van? Deep rumblings from the wheel well beneath her seat, vision obscured by a black bag that smelled of other people's despair. Had she been forced to listen to a sanctimonious lecture on choices, on right and wrong and other luxuries? Or sharp-edged jokes at her expense in a language she didn't quite understand, which turned to shouts and blows when she risked a movement. It didn't matter. It wasn't her memory.

She was just here. The room in which Tina found herself was barren, a metal bench encrusted with something black and flaky and a bucket in the corner. That was it. It was obviously a mistake, some miscommunication somewhere, or a case of mistaken identity. These things were unfortunate, but sometimes they happened. One of the people in charge would no doubt realise and sort it all out. She smothered the kernel of dread that was lurking in her chest.

She just needed to be patient. The bench was uncomfortable to sit on and she began to shiver from the cold. Had she ever been this cold before? Outside, of course, in the deepest winter, bundled up and pushing through to a heated home. But sat inside, with nowhere to go, nothing to change or wrap up in, just a thin grey jumpsuit, unable to do anything but sit there and shiver. That was a sort of cold that was alien to her. She stood, trying to push down her physical discomfort and worry with movement

the cell was small and cramped and tina kept hitting her shin on the bench she paused casting an eye over the rough concrete wall surrounding her covered in deep grooves and scratch marks she turned away quickly and saw the window above her scratch marks. She turned away quickly, and saw the window above her. Had there been a window when she had first come here? When had that been? It had no glass, just thick iron bars, but if she stood on tiptoe and really strained, she could just about see out of it. When she saw the world beyond her walls, her heart sank. The world seemed bright and normal. The sun was high and shining, though none of it passed through the bars. And if she tried to reach through, the light seemed to shrink from her skin.

Cars passed by on the road. Somewhere, a bird was singing. The world didn't miss her, didn't know or care about what was happening beyond these walls. A child passed by, a girl with plaited blonde hair and a bright orange bicycle. Tina called, quietly, suddenly afraid of who might be listening on the other side of her cell door. The child's eyes met hers. The first moment of human connection that she had really felt since she'd arrived. But hadn't she only just got here? And Tina felt herself begin to smile.

Then the child's eyes narrowed in sudden hatred as the little girl bent down, picked up a rock and hurled it at the window. It passed cleanly through the bars and hit Tina square in the forehead. Her vision flashed white with pain as she fell back, slamming against the bench with a crunch. Part of her wanted to lie there and weep, overcome with what was happening to her. But faster than that came the anger, the indignation. How dare they? She did not deserve this. She was better than this.

This did not happen to people like her. She clawed her way back up to the window and looked out, trying to see the spiteful little brat. But the girl was now behind her father, who shooed her away with a terror in his eyes, a terror aimed at Tina. And for the briefest of moments, she was certain that the man's fear was mocking her. Behind her she heard the sound of a key sliding into the filthy iron lock of her cell door.

She tried to tell herself that sound was a good thing, that it meant someone was coming to check on her, to clear this all up, to tell her what was happening. But this was not the place for such lies. The door opened, and there they stood, identical in their uniforms, their skin fish-belly white and their eyes gleaming with malice. And then she was back in her cell. She didn't remember the interview, not properly. Why had it been a trial?

There had been a man, she was certain of it, and he had smiled as he sat across from her. a man, she was certain of it, and he had smiled as he sat across from her. There had been a file, a thick manila envelope stained with grease and coffee, which held the pages of her life, typed out in a small, no-nonsense font. She remembered that she had read those pages with increasing alarm. It had all been there, all of it, her life, her loves, her choices, her mistakes. No detail spared, no nasty inference ignored. There was no benefit of the doubt here, no understanding or kindness, only the disinterested ink of words that would see her prosecuted. None of these things are illegal, she had had said the man had laughed at that it had been a dry and hacking sound

that cracked the mirrored glass of the interview room and made the jurors ears bleed he stroked his badge or had it been that gnarled and bloodstained gavel the laws have changed and now she is back in her cell, or a cell that looks like hers. It is smaller, perhaps. The metal bench is cleaner, but rusted through on the hinges, so when she lies on it, it squeals and threatens to collapse. They never told her any charges, never gave her any verdict. She

is certain she will see that man, the judge or the detective or the warden. She will see him again. Perhaps she will be moved or written up or reprimanded. The cold is settling in. The cold is settling in. The hunger is biting her as she tries to sleep. There has been a mistake. She should not be here. But she had met the person in charge. She had pleaded her case, told him of what had happened. And he had laughed at her. A tray slides under the door, spilling thin, watery stew over the floor, tipping out chunks of something that glistens and writhes. Tina ignores it as she grabs the hatch and tries to keep it open, tries to tell the guards to explain what's happened,

that something's gone wrong, that she shouldn't be here, this isn't right, why can't anybody see this? This isn't the place for people like her. The hatch slams shut on her fingers and she pulls her hand back, pain robbing her voice of protest for a moment. Outside the window, night has fallen and the temperature starts dropping even further. Perhaps if she behaved, they would give her a blanket. Perhaps she could see other people share her story of injustice. Tina tells herself so many lies as she shivers in the dark. The moonlight falls on those old and faded scratch marks on the concrete wall.

And as she places her hand on the shallow grooves, they match her fingers perfectly. She refuses to count the tally marks that cover every inch. All done? Yes. I still think doing it in one of the actual cells was a bit much. It was the most soundproof place I could find. Soundproof? Yeah, dream on. You've heard? I'm sorry, I know it was...

I actually didn't, but only because I was too busy hearing what was going on in all the other cells. Ah. Well, they seem to have quieted for a while at least. Yeah, one of those... things passed by just now and everyone shut right up. Hmm. The jailers have that effect. Shall we go? What if another one comes along? It's fine. We're, uh... We're guests of the warden.

Ugh. Mm-hmm. Come on. Does it not bother you? What? Being a guest? Yeah. It's not like it resisted.

Hell, it was chummy. Would you rather it had attacked? No, it's just... Is that how these creatures seals now? As one of them? I forgot that's a new experience for you. Excuse me? You have to remember, I've had this for years.

Right from the start, it's always been archivist this and archivist that, all these weird, awful creatures assuming I'm in on all the secrets. Even when they were trying to kill me, they treated me like I was a peer. Yeah, but they were still trying to kill you. Well, not all of them. And now, sure, the power's shifted, it's all politeness and respect, but it still feels just like more of the same. I guess I just stopped caring at some point.

Besides, they are technically right, I am one of them, to a degree. Suppose. I think the real question is, how are you finding it? It's not the same. I'm still just your plus one. Don't put yourself down. It's not your fault you're a bit overshadowed. I am such a very big deal, after all. Oh, very big arse, more like it.

Either way, even if I wasn't here, I don't think you'd be in any danger. Not anymore. I wasn't sure when we first started out. I hadn't properly, er, looked into it, as it were but now I'm certain and one of them

one of us that's not as comforting as you think it is doesn't mean it's not true though and this is all because I've been given a domain. Because apparently I somehow have people's fear feeding me. Well, feeding the eye through you, but yes. Even though I didn't ask for it?

Did nothing to deserve it? Deserve? There's a word that always causes trouble. Don't be patronising. I just mean that nobody here deserves the position they've found themselves in. Not really. I suppose a few may have asked for it, sorted out even, but far more didn't. They just made the wrong choices for the right reasons, or even the right choices.

But ones that still led them here in the end. I hate it. On balance, that's probably a good thing Hey, hey you Yeah, I know you Er, what? From the Magnus Institute Um, er, Mark

You know him? Martin Martin, right, yeah, you remember You tipped us off and we came and nicked your boss The Bouchard blood Oh, oh right, the, um... Oh, Inspector... I'm so sorry, I've forgotten your name.

So have I. I'm just 547 in here. God, I'm so sorry. You've got to help me. Oh, I... I don't... I heard you. You said you were chummy with the warden.

And I need to get out. I can't. This place, you've got to help me. Martin, what do you think? What? I decided about Jordan. This place is from your past. Yeah, Martin, only briefly. Still. Please, Martin. Come on, mate. You're just returning a favour, yeah? What's wrong? You've got to hurry. There's not much time.

Why are you here? What? What are you so afraid of that you ended up in here? I didn't do anything. John? Why are you here? I don't... Stop. Stop. I will stop when you answer the question.

Look, you can't know if they're all guilty, alright? It's just about evidence. Right. Sometimes you have to... What? Guess? I'm sorry, alright? No. You're just afraid. Please.

It's almost lights out. I can't be here for lights out. Not again. Please. You owe me. This place is born of their nightmares. And of yours. If you made him a watcher, he'd become part of this place? He would.

And if he was, would he enjoy it? What are you talking about? No, of course not. You know I can't see the future. But? But I can see his past. And based on that,

he probably would. Yes. Hey, hey, fuck you, you scrawny little tit What the hell do you know? Leave him What? No, no, please I didn't mean it I need your help, please Please don't go away

Come back, look, we can talk Please, Martin Martin, please Come back, come back, please. I need your help. I can't stay here. Don't leave me here. Martin, Martin, please.

That was horrible. I'm sorry I put you in that position. No, you were right to. That's a lot of power to have to deal with. That was horrible. I'm sorry I put you in that position. No, you were right to. That's... That's a lot of power to have to deal with. A lot of responsibility. Yes.

Thank you, Uncle Ben. Pop culture? Really? I'm allowed to know what Spider-Man is. Not helping people is still a decision, isn't it? Well, you saw Jordan. I'm not sure people is still a decision, isn't it? Well, you saw Jordan. I'm not sure helping is really... I know, I know. Not the right word. Ignoring them, then.

Yes. It's a choice I've been making a lot recently. I guess we should get used to it. Knowing that all these awful things are happening for our benefit. Maybe it's better if it never gets comfortable. Maybe. Hey, do you feel that? Martin?

Martin, listen, you need to get ready. We're about to enter the... Yeah, my domain, yes, right, I get it. Dream logic. And timing, apparently. John? John? Oh, shit. To be continued... Jonathan Sims, produced by Laurie-Anne Davis and directed by Alexander J. Newell. It featured Jonathan Sims as the Archivist, Alexander J. Newell as Martin Blackwood, and Richard Davies as the Inspector.

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