The Magnus Archives - The Magnus Protocol 12 – Getting Off

Episode Date: April 18, 2024

CAT1RB4728-09032024-13032024 Mascot (kids) -/- frenzy [insurance claim]Incident Elements: - Mascots - Bonzo - Graphic Violence - Mentions of: blood, dismemberment Transcripts: https://shorturl.at/gzF15  This episode is dedicated from Thomas Cardona to Amanda, thank you for your generous support! You can a complete list of our Kickstarter backers https://rustyquill.com/the-magnus-protocol-supporter-wall/ Created by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall Directed by Alexander J Newall Written by Alexander J Newall Script Edited with additional material by Jonathan Sims Executive Producers April Sumner, Alexander J Newall, Jonathan Sims, Dani McDonough, Linn Ci, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton Associate Producers Jordan L. Hawk, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius d’Raven, and Megan Nice Produced by April Sumner  Featuring (in order of appearance) Shahan Hamza as Samama KhalidLowri Ann Davies as Celia RipleyBillie Hindle as Alice DyerAnusia Battersby as Gwendolyn BouchardAlexander J Newall as Norris Dialogue Editor – Lowri Ann Davies  Sound Designer – Tessa VroomMastering Editor - Catherine Rinella Music by Sam Jones (orchestral mix by Jake Jackson) Art by April Sumner  SFX from Soundly, Freesound (CCO): vladnegrila, and previously credited artists Support us on Patreon at https://patreon.com/rustyquill Check out our merchandise available at https://www.redbubble.com/people/RustyQuill/shop and https://www.teepublic.com/stores/rusty-quill  Join our community: WEBSITE: rustyquill.com FACEBOOK: facebook.com/therustyquill TWITTER: @therustyquill REDDIT: reddit.com/r/RustyQuill EMAIL: [e-mail]  The Magnus Protocol is a derivative product of the Magnus Archives, created by Rusty Quill Ltd. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share alike 4.0 International Licence.  Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hello, it's Kareem, the voice of Simon Fairchild from the Magnus Archives, here to tell you about the audible original George Orwell's 1984. It's 1984, and life has changed beyond recognition. Airstrip 1, formerly known as Great Britain, is a place where Big Brother is always watching, and nobody can hide. Except perhaps for Winston Smith. Whilst working at the Ministry of Truth, rewriting history, he secretly dreams of freedom. And in a world where love and sex are forbidden, where it's hard to distinguish

between friend and foe, he meets Julia and vows to rebel. This bold new take on George Orwell's classic features an epic cast including Andrew Garfield, Cynthia Erivo and Andrew Scott, featuring Tom Hardy as Big Brother, and includes a haunting original score by Matthew Bellamy and Nilan Eshkerri that takes this thrilling production to the next level. Experience an immersive listening experience like nothing you've heard before, and listen to George Orwell's 1984 on Audible now. To learn more, go to audible.ca.com.au slash big brother. This episode is dedicated from Thomas Cardona to Amanda. Thanks for showing me the wonderfully

eldritch horror that is TMA. I can't wait to go down the rabbit hole even further when we terrorise our friends with it too. Rusty Quill presents The Magnus Protocol Episode 12 Getting Off I'm sorry. The secret tunnel is actually behind the fridge so... Cheers. I'd have been here on that. Where? To tea.

We need tea. Oh, middle of cupboard on the left, isn't it? Empty. Ah, well if it's of little on the left, isn't it? Empty. Ah, well if it's not there, I'm afraid we might just be out. Tell you what, give me a moment. Here you go. Oh, you stunner! Why'd you find that? I've learned that keeping my fancier sound in the break room cupboards is a quick way to lose it.

What? Oh, no, you don't have to. It's all good, really. Celia, take the tea bag. Have more. Thanks. I owe you. No, it's... Hey, would you maybe want to go out and grab a cup with me sometime? Of tea? Or coffee? Breakfast?

Or not, I mean, you don't have to, obviously. Just a thought. Not like an exchange for a tea bag or anything. I just meant that... No, I'd love to. It's just... You're busy. No. Well, actually, yeah, sort of. But it's not like that. It's complicated. I would need to sort some stuff out first. Water your dog, walk your pot plant, That kind of thing? Something like that. Well, hey, no worries. I totally understand. You let me know if maybe you manage to get some time and... Saturday? Six? Under the Cork at Leicester Square? That work? Go for dinner? Well, breakfast, you know what I mean. Oh, yeah. Yeah, that works.

Cool. Cool. See you later. Yeah, see you. Oh, sorry, Alan. Didn't see you there. What? What?

Just scared to talk to them with. I'm sure. I don't know what you're talking about. Mm-hmm. Well, I was just wondering though. That is to say, oh, um, ever so sorry to be a bother, but, but what if you and I, uh, uh, were to perhaps, if it's not too much trouble, maybe go to purchase a cup of liquid? No, it's rude, Deves, bro.

You know, it's rude to have absolutely no game. Christ, all these years and you still ask people out like a baby foal learning to tap dance. Look, it worked, didn't it? Maybe. Then again, maybe she's in the office right now packing her bags, burning off her fingerprints and booking a one-way flight to Costa Rica. Hard to tell. You're just jealous. Oh, yeah. Can't believe I'm missing out on all of this. Devastating. Listen, Alice.

Thanks. For what? For coming with me to the Institute, even though you knew it was going to be a waste of time. And money? And money, yeah. Well, don't worry about it. It wasn't that bad.

Really? No, it was awful. I'm just lying to you because I consider it like that. Well, either way, I've been thinking about it since we came back and I reckon you were right. I think I'm done with Magnus stuff. Oh yeah? Yeah, Yeah? Why? So you're telling me that if I had a case full of emails with the title Magnus Institute Re-Semarmica Lead Massive Conspiracy, you wouldn't be tempted? No.

Cool. You don't though, do you? That was just like a joke, right? Come on, for now let's just focus on getting you as jaded and apathetic as possible I'm sure Celia would love that yeah well we don't always get what we want do we Claim review. EL-56920. Policy holder Soho Jax Ltd. Policy number 548651-656.

Policy type. Employers liability. Site address. Soho Jacks, 9 Carlisle Street, London, W1D3BK. Affected employee, Ms. Jordan Bennett. Date of incident, 9 March, 2024. Incident location, on site. Documentation. Crime report, submitted. Medical practitioners report, submitted. Incident Book Entry Submitted

First Aiders Report Submitted Supervisors Incident Report Submitted HSE Communications Submitted Health and Safety Policies Submitted Employment Contract Submitted Claim Valuation 1.56 million pounds sterling assessment conclusion claim denied reason fraudulent claim see incident description and police report incident description as follows I've been advised by my lawyer that I should cooperate with your insurance claim even if I am suing your asses to kingdom come something about acting

in good faith. So here is my account of what happened, for all the good it'll do. I could apologise for the handwriting, but since it's your damn fault, I won't bother. I started working at Jack's in the spring of 21, after finishing the Flair Academy six months earlier. I hadn't found a job the whole time and I was just about to call it, go back to flipping burgers when Jax replied, got an interview straight away, bossed the demo and somehow found myself tending at the Soho Gentleman's Club. Jax has dances on the bottom two floors with VIP suites for higher above with a dedicated bouncer keeping them separate. Really it's just a quieter box with a private bar, some comfy chairs and the

option of private dancers. It's always booked up with swank dickettes trying to show off, but stags are the worst. They're cheap, they're loud, they drink too much, tip too little and only ever hire one dance for the groom. Plus there's always some nice guy that won't shut up about exploitation without even bothering to stop staring. This lot weren't the worst, just a bunch of heavy-set middle-aged lads with names like Ozzer or Rozzer or whatever. My guess was they used to be a school rugby team or something. The groom was fine, acted embarrassed even though he was obviously keen and they were easily pleased. They mostly just ordered lager so I did a couple of helicopters and a flash with some empties just for show

and then left them to it and got ahead with Restocking while they all swore they'd come back every year No one ever does They started giving the groom gifts same old tat as always cufflinks poo gags all the standard stuff Then the groom spotted the last one on the table this cheap yellow and purple kids lunchbox It looked old and shoddy and no one admitted to bringing it in, but the groom just squealed with glee and carefully opened it before pulling out a bunch of old souvenir merch.

Pencils, postcards, keyrings, all sorts of crap. All the same yellow and purple and last of all a cracked CD case. When they saw it, the whole bunch gave this big laughing cheer. I could see which way the wind was blowing and sure enough the best man came over and asked if he could play it. The cover had this awful comic sans title, Mr. Bonzo's on his way and I wasn't exactly thrilled by this. Mr. Bonzo was way before my time and from what I'd seen online he'd always looked pretty messed up. But hey, it was their night. If they wanted to spend it on some cringey nostalgia trip, who was I to say no?

This kind of thing happened often enough that we kept a battered old CD player in the back that we could patch into the room speakers, just in case. So I ducked back there, put it on, turned the volume down as low as I thought I could get away with and prayed it wasn't too obnoxious. Immediately the cheering children's voices blared out the speakers accompanied by bouncy tubers loud enough to drown out the rest of the club's music. It was awful, but I could hear the lads stamping the floor in rhythm and as the kids started singing the men were singing along. Mr. Bonzo's on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play,

Mr. Bonzo's on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play, Mr. Bonzo's on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play. I gave them a minute since I didn't want to be a total killjoy, but finally I reached over and turned off the CD player before Derek came down from the office to have a word. But instead of stopping, it just grew louder, rattling the glassware in the bar. Mr. Bonzo's on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play. I even yanked the cables from the speakers but it just kept getting louder. I was just reaching for my walkie to call for a techie when I heard this massive crash from the room, followed by this cheer from the party. I rushed back in ready

to give them a bollocking but then hesitated behind the door when I saw it. It was hunched in the doorway, a bulbous figure with a purple hat that cast crazed shadows in all directions thanks to the club's lighting. Then it doffed its hat and pushed itself into the room, foam catching on the doorframe with a squeak that set my teeth on edge. Its massive bulbous googly eyes seemed to roam all over the room before settling on the groom, and it was almost as if the huge toothy grin grew that little bit wider when it saw him.

The rugby boys were tripping over themselves to get in and hug it, laughing and pushing the groom to the front and so I figured at that point it was a prank. Again, none of them took credit for it and there was a moment of genuine hesitation until one of them yelled out, itch your lap dance Baz Baz and they all fell about laughing. I know you'll think I should have seen the funny side of it, after all they weren't a bad bunch but I was pissed. Not them, they didn't know any better but uh Joey the doorman. Derek had already ripped him a new one after he ducked out for a smoke and left me alone with the punters. If he'd done it again and this time accidentally let this kind of thing happen, I was ready to kill him myself.

I began to stride over, readying for the inevitable complaints, then hesitated as I saw something far more unnerving than the ugly costume that was capering with the groom in the middle of the group. There was a pair of heavy boots on their side, poking just inside the still open doorway. Joey's boots. And they weren't moving. Just then the googly eyes turned to me, and a puffy finger raised cheekily to its mouth. By this time the men had all started chanting Bonzo, Bonzo, Bonzo and stamping their feet and banging the tables in a circle around the pair in the centre

as the music grew deafening, distortions creeping in as the speakers strained. I grabbed for my walkie to call for help but as I raised it to my face I could hear that same god-awful tune blaring from the tinny little speaker. Mr Bonzo's on his way, he wants to stay, he wants to play. I started to yell at them, telling them to stop, to get out before we called the police, but none of them heard. They were still focused on the thing as it took the groom by the arms and began to spin him around faster and faster. The watching men were falling over one another in hysterics as it drew itself up to its full height, a full head

taller than the largest of them, and still spinning, suddenly ripped the groom's arms from their sockets with the grisly snap of bone, tendon and muscle. I remember they were still laughing as the groom began to scream, blood flooding out of his shoulders and gouts. It was only when I screamed with him that they realised what was happening. They began screaming themselves as Mr Bonzo plunged its oversized hand into the groom's mouth, his teeth unable to penetrate its sweaty hide. The other hand closed over his face, stubby fingers pressing into his eyes and smothering his nose. Then the two hands jerked apart, unfolding the groom's

head with another flowering explosion of blood. The men began to roar, some in rage but most in terror. A few of the bigger guys picked up chairs or bottles and began to beat and slash at the thing. It didn't seem to notice, its bulbous bloodshot eyes staying fixed on the groom's body as it raised it overhead. One slash from a broken bottle burst one of the spots on its body, releasing a stream of thick, viscous liquid sloughing out from inside, some vile mixture of putrid water, rotten foam and rancid meat. The bonzo thing didn't seem to notice as it raised the body and slammed it back into the floor over and over and over,

each blow pulverising the flesh and showering us in gore until all that was left was a dripping sack of shattered bones that it shoveled into its gaping, gap-toothed mouth with satisfaction. For a split second, all was still. But the music just pounded on, barely recognisable now over the distortion from the smoking speakers as those voices, no longer childlike still, chanted the words, he's here to stay, he wants to play. Then Mr Bonzo turned towards us, with its head bowed almost reverentially, and everyone went silent. Slowly, awfully slowly, it raised its head, tilting it cockettishly to one side. Then the seams across its face split, revealing its gaping maw filled with even larger sharpity. And it boomed playfully. Bonzo? Bonzo Bonzo? I don't remember much of what followed, but I dream about it most nights. In the dream

it digs through all those men to get to me, grabbing fistfuls of them and throwing them to smash against the wall. The strobe fires as its hands plunge into the pile of us and each flash shows a little less flesh between me and it, between me and all those teeth. Finally everyone else is gone. I raise my arm to protect myself and it gently but inexorably lifts it up into its mouth, smiles and bites. None of us was left whole. But I was the luckiest. All I lost was a hand.

Wasn't even my dominant one. I've told the investigators everything I know, doctors too. I don't know why nobody outside the room heard or saw anything, why the cameras weren't working, why it let me live, but I do know why there weren't any bodies. All I actually want is my hand back so I can ten bar, but that isn't going to happen is it? So I'll have to settle for the next best thing and sue you for everything I can get because I don't know what happened that night But it was in your venue and no one came to help

Not Derek not another doorman no one So yeah, you'd better have one hell of a settlement waiting for me, or I'll see you in court Jesus Christ I go by Alice now actually. Glenn? Hello? What? Okay enough is enough. How am I meant to wind you up if you're already at the end of your rope? Wow, are you like actually okay? Yeah? Yeah, I just... I had to meet one of these externals. Oh, I get it. Yeah, I've worked in civil service long enough to meet plenty of entitled little dipshit consultants. You shouldn't let it get to you. What do you think we're actually doing here at the OIAR? Apart from mortgaging our mental health for a wage packet?

We've both been here long enough to know this place. We're not doing good. We're not just sifting random data. There's something wrong here. What are you getting at? You never wonder what the point is who benefits from all this awfulness. I don't wonder I know What? Really? Oh, yeah

I've known for a while what we're doing here It's all part of a grand plan to satisfy one of the most unspeakable evils known to mankind the UK government thanks Alice utterly useless as always anytime The Magnus Protocol is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike 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 Lory Ann Davis,

soundscaping by Tessa Vroom and mastering by Katherine Rinella, with music by Sam Jones. It featured Billy Hindle as Alistair, Shahan Hamza as Samana Khalid, Anusha Batasbi as Gwen Bouchard, Lory Ann Davis as Celia Ripley, 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, C.T.S. DeRaven and Megan Nice. To subscribe, view Associated Materials or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuilt.com. Rate and reviews online? Tweet us at TheRustyQuilt, visit us on Facebook or email us via mail at rustyquill.com. Thanks for listening. Hello, it's Kareem, the voice of Simon Fairchild from the Magnus Archives, letting you know

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