The Magnus Archives - MAG 189 - Peers

Episode Date: November 26, 2020

Case ########-29Considerations of governmental oversight.Recorded by The Archivist in Situ.Content warnings:ArgumentsScopophobiaMass sufferingPoverty & Food insufficiencyGuilt   Political expediencyMentions of: Blood, self-inflicted wounds, physical violence, cults. coughing, yellingThanks to this week's Patrons: NicoleK, Micheala Poppell, Rebecca Rutherford, Mira Morning, freesnakepoems, Lind Berget, Erica Eagles, Max, Lucy Jansen, Ray Morello, Amanda F., the war over pineapple on pizza is a distraction from the elder gods, TimonTomato, Aroara N, Morgan, Nadeem Cassander, Fiona Cartwright, Meg Petz, LocalDogMom, Alana Haber, Emily Peterson, Sam Blackman, bluehatted, Sam Toby, man door hand hook car door, Lindsey Johnson, Marg McGinnis, Arthur Stjerne, Sam Vest, Jessi Pitts, Emily Apples, Maria Lund, timkonbart, Shell Stowell, fromgloriousjupiter, indiana elepaio, Cerulean Cheesecake, Eli Davis, Sophie Sloane, Laura, Aiden Parziani, Angela Spatz, Simon Panitpakdi Jones, Ian Doherty, Amy Wain, braxxyn, Feather, Kira S, Stag.If you'd like to join them visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillEdited this week by Nico Vettese, Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J NewallWritten by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J NewallProduced by Lowri Ann DaviesSensitivity consultation by Alexander Linde NielsenPerformances:- "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims- "Martin Blackwood" - Alexander J. Newall- "Melanie King" - Lydia Nicholas- "Georgie Barker" - Sasha SiennaSound effects this week by 14F_NetusilovaKristyna, aarom, ahur1976, alienistcog, Alivvie, altfuture, Anthousai, BeeProductive, bertiehs, bevibeldesign, BOBtheROSS, bsmacbride, carlito62, CGEffex, Closetwalrus, coltures, conleec, constructabeat, Darsycho, DickBlox, emf26509, FlashTrauma, florianreichelt, Halleck, InspectorJ, Islabonita, joe_anderson22, juanlamillap, julius_galla, JustInvoke, klankbeeld, kyles, meggiepie, meimeibuchikafei, mitchanary, MootMcnoodles, nmarciniegasm, OBCT, OK8, omgbong, patchytherat, Paul368, pfranzen, PickleJones, pushkin, qubodup, Sandermotions, Sauron974, ScreenplayTheater, signtoast, SpliceSound, SteveMannella, sturmankin, Taira Komori, TheDweebMan, tmkappelt, tompallant, Yuval, Jickle, black_trillium, Glitchedtones, Daphne_in_Wonderland, michorvath, vdr3, klangfabrik, Astounded & previously credited artists via freesound.orgAdditional sound effects from https://www.zapsplat.comMusic - Great One Step by the Victor Dance Orchestra, approx 1906-1910, available from the Free Music Archive:https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Victor_Dance_Orchestra/Antique_Phonograph_Music_Program_01192016/The_Great_One_Step_Victor_Dance_OrchesteraCheck out our merchandise available at https://www.redbubble.com/people/RustyQuill/shop and https://www.teepublic.com/stores/rusty-quill.You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting

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Hi everyone, Alex here with a short message ahead of today's episode. This marks the end of Act 2 of this fifth and final season of the Magnus Archives. This means that we will now be taking another six-week hiatus after this episode, during which we will be releasing alternate special content on our normal weekly schedule. The story will continue in its final act, which releases to the public on Thursday 14th of January 2021. We once again thank you for your patience and understanding as we take the time we need to ensure everyone working on this show stays happy and healthy. Thank you, and enjoy the episode. Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives

Episode 189 Piers This is it, then? This is what? Don't play dumb. It's the final battle, right? We climb the tower, take out the bad guy, figure out how to change the world back, and back in time for tea. Right? Certainly got the audience for it.

Yeah. They did roll out the red carpet, didn't they? Must be nice, getting the star treatment. I'd hardly call flooding Oxen Street with blood the star treatment. Oh no? What would you call it? A very lazy metaphor. Wow, you're really determined not to engage, aren't you? I'm just nervous. Jonah Magnus is waiting at the top of this tower and he obviously

knows we're coming. I mean, yeah, okay, but... Not only that, every eye in an entire city made of nothing but eyes is staring at me while I try to prepare. What? Seriously? Stage fright. The great archivist, master of all he surveys, can't handle a bit of public attention. Well, clearly not.

I'm more comfortable actually doing the looking. Oh, I'm so sorry, John. I didn't realise. God forbid you get uncomfortable. I guess I'll just tell everyone it's off then, shall I? We'll just go. You don't need to be sarcastic, okay? You're right. I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I'm scared too. That's what concerns me. I don't follow. What if our fear is feeding him, making him stronger? But you're with the I too, though, right? So maybe it's making you stronger as well? John?

No, you're... You're right, of course you're right. I can't believe I didn't consider it before. John, use your words. No, me versus Elias, Jonah, we both draw power from the eye. Well, yeah, obviously. No, but that, there's, I mean, if we face off, try to destroy each other, it's not like it's going to be an actual fight. Hey, don't talk like that, okay? We can take him. No, Martin, listen, what I'm saying is that whichever way you cut it, ultimately it just comes down to who the eye chooses.

So what, it's just an Eldritch popularity contest? Yes. Except one of the contestants is also planning to try and murder the judge. Maybe he hasn't realised? Martin, I don't see any way I can win this. Not now, not like this. Hang on, hang on. Okay, let's think about this a moment. You're making a load of assumptions here. You can't see inside, remember?

We have no idea what's happening up there. You're right, meaning we have no idea what he's got planned for us. Yeah, but that was always going to be the case, wasn't it? Wait, where are you going? We shouldn't have come. Oh, yeah, sure. We should just go with one of all those other options that we have hidden up our sleeves, yeah? Martin.

Don't Martin me, OK? We're here because it's this or nothing, right? Right. And we can't do nothing, right? Right. Great. So lead on. John?

Oh. Um. Where's the door, John? How do we get inside this monstrosity? I. Um... Where's the door, John? How do we get inside this monstrosity? I, uh... Hmm. You don't know? I'm not sure.

Something's probably blocking you. Maybe. Maybe the eye doesn't actually want me in there. Or it's something Jonah Magnus put in place, or... Yeah. Or... Or... Or... Or...

Or maybe I can't bring myself to look. Maybe I don't actually want to go inside. For God's sake, John! I'm sorry! No, it's... I get it. It's fine. Maybe there's another way in.

What's this thing made of, anyway? Like obsidian or something? Right? One-way mirrored glass. Of course it is. Well, if it's just glass then it won't be hard to break, right? We can just grab something heavy, like one of these cameras, and then all I need... Oh, I wouldn't... I warned you.

Brilliant! Just brilliant! Dammit! Martin... What? Brilliant! God damn it! Martin. What? Look, just... Just give me... Let me try to focus. Tune out all these watches.

I've got a statement to make anyway. Already? Yes. There's a lot here, Martin. A lot. Fine. Fine. I'll do a lap of the base,

see if I can find any way in through any of the bits that used to be the Institute. Just be careful, okay? Yeah, alright. Don't worry about me. Besides, if anything happens, at least there's plenty of witnesses. That's not funny. No. I'll be back soon. Right.

Here's your bloody performance. The minister hurries onwards, his eyes downcast, focusing on anything that breaks the monotony of the street. Cracks in the paving stones, boot-stomped cigarette ends, the mouldering yellow lines that snake along the pavement's edge. Anything so that he doesn't have to meet their gaze. The gaunt and hollow-cheeked figures that stare at him from every corner of this blighted city that might hide them from the chill stick-brittle women, dresses covered in second-hand blood

old men bloated from what we sold to them as food skin discoloured from malnourishment and the children, God, the children they won't stop looking, won't stop following him with their piteous, desperate gaze that speaks so loudly his knees feel like they will buckle. Help us. He will. Of course he will. He wants to. He hasn't lied to them. He really hasn't. He used to be one of them. He remembers what it can be like. He is there to speak for them, and if necessary, he will join them again. his throat at the sudden jolt of fear that races through his veins. Where did that come from? Is he afraid of it? Of returning? Of that sharp stab of hunger, the shivering of a cold that you can't escape? Or is he afraid that, should it come to that, they will see him as a deceiver?

But he cannot dwell solely on his worries, he tells himself, a sentiment that his journey is proving quite inaccurate. He glances at his watch, trying to hide it from his observers so that they might not see how expensive it is. He's late, of course. The minister is always late. There are never any taxis, you see. If he was in a car, he would be all right. Then he wouldn't have to see them. Be seen by them. No, that's not the way to look at it. These are his people. It's important he stays connected to them. So why does it make him so afraid? Before him rises the great shining glass palace, jagged and angular, clear crystal fogged and smeared with sweat and grease and breathy condensation. But still its denizens can be seen by the masses of the starving that crowd around the edges.

They cannot help but look inside, begging and weeping and hissing and falling as they wait for somebody, anybody, to stop the things that kill them. The minister uses the back entrance. The stale and humid air hits him immediately, the light from the not-a-sun reflected through a dozen layers of glass. not a sun reflected through a dozen layers of glass. The light takes on a crimson tinge as he passes an office dried with gore, and turns away from a back room where three men in fine suits laugh among themselves as they weave their pile of nooses. Time was, the minister thinks, they'd have at least put up a curtain, a token effort to hide their intentions. But now they work in full view, unafraid of what the masses outside may see.

Their lies are just as transparent. There is no choice here but to believe. Finally, he reaches the chamber, the heart of the wretched place. Though the corridors are hard to navigate in this place of clear walls, you can always follow the sound of blustered roaring echoing down the way. It gets louder and louder with each step until the minister crosses the threshold into the great room and it swallows him whole. The two sides scream and hoot and holler at each other, each on their end of the pit of sand, the arena in which they fight.

The minister ignores the cobwebs in it as he makes his way to his chair. It is politer not to mention the thick layer of dust that has accumulated on the arena floor. He takes his place, marvelling again at how comfortable the seat is, how well it seems to fit Before the memory of the eyes outside, the knowledge that he can still be seen Wipes the contented smile from his face with a jerk He looks across the divide at his opponents Pale and gurning things that smirk and guffaw and howl. They are content and safe and happy in this place,

and only scream so loud from sheer hatred of the idea that any might make noise except themselves. On their thighs can be seen the glint of gold from the great polished nails they have driven through their legs and into the chairs, gangrenous wounds that ensure they shall never have to rise again, their position utterly secure. On his side of the arena the shouts should be sharper, more angry, but their tone and pitch are such as to merge seamlessly with the others.

There are no golden stakes on this side, pinning down his would-be comrades, but the minister must be careful not to look too closely, or else he might see how many of his allies are fused to their own chairs, on which they have sat comfortable for so long. His eyes drift away, through the walls to the crowd outside.

Their baying cries for justice cannot be heard in here. If any whisper should make it through, it is utterly destroyed in the deafening shouting that surrounds him. But he cannot forget their eyes, watching him, piercing him with their wounded humanity. The minister swallows, and tries to speak over the din. At first his words are lost, vanishing into the cacophony without a ripple. But they are words, clear and distinct from the shapeless expostulation of his peers. And as he says them one by one the others fall silent, their disgusted attention landing on him until his own voice falters in the sudden quiet.

Across the pit the pallid things gurn at him in indignant curiosity, while on his side he is surrounded by expressions of horrified betrayal. They can all hear him now. Any words he speaks will ring out through the chamber. He wants to talk of the people outside, the bruised and abandoned ones that suffer and die to slake their appetites. He wants to cry for restitution, for justice, for a future, for anything. But all eyes are on him, and he falters. He remembers the cold, the hunger, the ache of concrete beneath him.

He is afraid, and his chair is so very comfortable. The minister coughs, once, uncomfortably, and sits down. As he does so, the great bell tolls for dinner, and a thousand scuttering servants swarm out and into the chamber, depositing their silver trays before each seat, piled high with succulent steaming meat. The minister eats as those outside look on, and all he tastes is salt. All good? Yes, just, uh, left a little bit of a bad taste in my mouth. Oh, great. Fantastic. Martin?

What? Something's up? No. No, nothing's up. Everything's just still awful. Why are you smiling? I'm just really happy to see you. Martin? Oh, well. Looks like we aren't getting in here. Never mind. Better...

Best head off then, eh? What's going on? It's fine. Just trust me. Martin, this is not the sort of place where acting strange means I will still... Oh! Shut up! It's all right, John. Just keep quiet.

Georgie? Melanie? I thought... Sorry, John. I'm not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, you know, I didn't want to take any chances, so it made sense to... Put on a show? Yeah, basically, more or less. Martin says it's much harder for you to avoid attention up there. Another reason we should have left them up there. Still. Glad you're alive.

And that? Likewise. Oh. Oh. Oh, I know that sound. He's going pale, right? Five quid says he's about to collapse again. I am not going to collapse.

What do you mean, again? Oh, come on. You do it to collapse again. I am not going to collapse. What do you mean again? Oh, come on. You do it all the time. I do not. I'm just feeling a little bit woozy, all right? I can't quite think straight like it. Martin, you remember? Is this what you were talking about?

Yeah, if something messes with his connection, he can get a little vague. I don't like being discussed like I'm not here. Then you are going to love the others. What others? There's a small group of... survivors we managed to pull out of some of the nearby hells. They, um... they think we're... special. You know, because the eye can't see us. It's fine, Georgie. You can use the C word.

Excuse me? Fine. We've got sort of a cult. What? Oh, that's okay. Not what I was expecting. Mm-hmm. It's extremely weird. It wasn't intentional. It just

sort of happened. Although, I have to admit, it can be useful. Occasionally. Okay, this is to admit, it can be useful. Occasionally. Okay, this is, uh, this is a lot. Why don't we take it from the top? Alright. You're alive? Yeah. Good.

I keep telling her that technically there's no proof of that. I'm really glad. Friendly faces have been kind of rare. Or weird. How are you here? What happened? When the world started to change, it just didn't hit me and Melanie. Not really. Georgie's got that fearless thing going on, and me and the eye. Well, you remember our messy divorce. Sure. We figured you'd know what was going on, so we headed for the Institute, but it was, um...

Well, you saw her up there. We couldn't find you, and by the time we arrived, the world was full nightmare. There was nowhere to go back to, so I told her about the tunnels. Turns out, not only were they still here, they actually do a decent job of hiding things. When you aren't painting a huge target on our backs. Melanie. What? I'm here, aren't I? I didn't say anything about being nice about it.

No, you didn't. So, let me moan. I'm sorry to cause a fuss. Bit late for that. How did you know we were there? How could we not? The entire city knows you were there. Everyone is so

excited to see the Ceaseless Watcher's special little boy. Yes. Well. You always did enjoy being the centre of things. So what's next? Well, I vote we catch up somewhere that's maybe not quite so close

to the sinister Megatower. Not so fast. Is it safe? If we take you to the others, is that going to put them in danger? Um, oh, well... No. No, I don't think it will. I'm going to hold you to that. Fine.

Come on, then. Oh, uh, Melanie, do you need a hand? No, no, I'm fine. Somehow managed to keep my cane through all of this. And I know this part of the tunnels pretty well. Besides, do you even have a torch? Oh, no, not anymore. Then I'm not the one with the problem.

I'm told it gets pretty dark. Oh, and John? Yes? No tape recorders. Oh. Right you are. The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 international license. Today's episode was written by 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, Lydia Nicholas as Melanie King, and Sasha Sienna as Georgie Barker. To subscribe, buy merchandise, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us via mail at RustyQuill.com. Join our community on the Discord via the website, or on Reddit at r slash The Magnus Archives. Thanks for listening. Hi everyone, Alex here. I'd just like to take a moment to thank some of our patrons. Thank you all. We really appreciate your support. Ian Doherty Amy Wayne Braxen Feather Kira S. Stack

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