The Magnus Archives - The Magnus Protocol 15 – Well Run

Episode Date: May 9, 2024

CAT1RB-6451-22062023-22032024Hunt (aristocratic) -/- compulsionIncident Elements:- Graphic Violence/Murder- Futility- Being Hunted- Classism- Dehumanisation- Hostile work environment- Implied cannibalism- Drowning- Mentions of: blades, guns, military service- SFX: Gunfire, loud music, suffocationTranscripts: https://shorturl.at/gzF15This episode is dedicated to Liesl Frank, 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 NewallWritten by Alexander J NewallScript 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) Lowri Ann Davies as Celia RipleyShahan Hamza as Samama KhalidBillie Hindle as Alice DyerJesse Hawke as VoicemailDanny Scarre as CatererEllie Dickens as Lady MowbrayAnusia Batterby as Gwendolyn BouchardYanick Ghanty as Luke DyerLara Sawalha as Drowning VictimDialogue Editor – Nico Vettese  Sound Designer – Meg McKellar Mastering Editor - Catherine RinellaMusic by Sam Jones (orchestral mix by Jake Jackson) Art by April Sumner 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   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 and click on the link below. This episode is dedicated to Liesel Frank. Thank you Alex and Johnny and everyone at Rusty Quill for giving us Magnus Archives

and Magnus Protocol. And thank you Daenerys Rodriguez for showing me the Magnus Archives. I love you, and I'm so happy to have you in my life. Rusty Quill presents... The Magnus Protocol. Episode 15. Well run. I'm sorry. One sec. Please? Sorry, go ahead. Uh, uh-hum? One sec. Uh-hum, please? Sorry, go ahead.

Uh-hum. Oh my, Sam, I didn't see you there. What can I do for you? I'm so glad you're on a seat there. I was wondering if you had perhaps dropped something? Don't think so. You're sure? Nothing small and ticket shaped like perhaps... these incredibly exclusive, hardly discounted, barely obstructed theatre tickets? No. You're sure? Because they look like they'd be perfect for someone to use maybe for a second date?

Yeah, nothing to do with me. So, is that a note to... I'm just playing. What's the show? Oh, er, The Pillow Man? Oh! What? Nothing. Very romantic choice. Is it? I don't really know much about it. I just thought when it's called...

Well, count me in. If I wanted to see your face... Cool! So did them. Not so fast now! I mean, sure, you could both go and canoodle in some stuffy old theatre... It's a good place to canoodle. Or you could hear one of the great up-and-coming music sensations that has currently taken the London scene by storm. Let me guess... Treasure Man? Don't be daft. They're taking a London scene by storm. Let me guess, Treasure Man? Don't be daft, they're taking a break before their tour. No, it's Penny for the Well actually.

But it is still Luke on the bass right? How many pans does that go in? Let's just say that this revolutionary indie ensemble, which may or may not also include my incredibly talented younger brother, is playing the Gladstone Arms at 10.30 tomorrow evening and you are both on the guest list. You're welcome. I'm sure Luke is great, Alice. Oh he is!

But I don't think I can make it. Anyway, we're going to the theatre. Aha! But that's the best bit. They're the last ones on so you can do your boring play and then just swing by afterwards. Ellis. Oh come on, it's the weekend. Live a little. I'm sorry but I don't think my sitter can stay that late. Your...sitter?

Yeah, there's no one else to step in so it's a thanks but no thanks from me. No, yeah. No, of course. So, like a dog sitter or... A baby. Human. Right. Sorry, yeah, that's cool. Babies are cool. I'll tell you what though, give me a bit more notice next time and I'll see if I can't get something sorted. I'd love to see your brother play. Er, yeah, sure. Anyway, don't mind me. I'm a bit behind tonight. Just ping me the details for theatre later, yeah? Of course.

So? And you say I do this? What? What? What? I said babies were cool! Hi, you've reached the Sentinel tip-off hotline. If you are calling with information that you believe merits investigation for the public interest, please leave a message with as much detail as possible along with your name and number.

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I work as a caterer. High-end private functions, silver surface, that kind of thing. It's my own company, and I've managed to build up a decent reputation in the right circles. We get called in for the really high-end stuff. The kind of event where the guest list is so rich that you've never even heard of them. There's a big difference between extravagance and elegance, and we sell the latter. We're not a big operation, though. There were only six permanent staff including myself. We do hire in fixed home waiting staff and other contractors, but even so, I knew these people. I worked with them for years,

and they didn't deserve what happened to them. We got a call a couple of months ago for a fairly small event at which Woodhall and the Cotswolds. Apparently they had a family shoot and wanted us to prepare the game. Normally that would be pheasant or pasture, we'd just swap it for stuff we prepared off-site since no one could ever tell the difference, but they were really explicit about it being larger game and wanting to know who's killed and who's eating. That meant a lot more prep time and equipment, but they insisted, and at this level you don't get to tell the client no, just how much extra it will cost.

We set up the cooking gazebos during the early afternoon in the rear of the gardens. On the butler's instructions, the house itself was a massive sprawling Elizabethan thing with pristine flower beds and prim lawns that ran right up the surrounding woodland. It wasn't usual to be given center stage like that, but I figured the client fancied themselves a foodie and just wanted to see the prep. Thankfully, we brought the flashy gear, just in case. Normally you'd

expect the shooter to have already been well underway by the time we arrived, but people were only just arriving and their tinted range rovers some problems. I didn't say anything, but I'm damn sure everyone got a head start on the veg and the sauces, because at this rate he would be a miracle if they would be eating before nine. Another hour passed with a couple more cars trickling in but still no one had even set out. Instead I could see them through the leaded windows just watching us work. Finally after another half hour I had the house staff fetch the butler. He eventually came out, dour as before, and

I told him that unless he knew something I didn't, there was going to be a distinct lack of venison for tonight's venison medallions. He just gave me this look, told me to prepare, and headed back inside. Obviously that pissed me right off, but what can you do? They paid for the day, so we just hungered down and looked busy. Finally, as the song was starting to set a bloody red behind the woodland, the guns came out, with their entourage all tweed, Winchesters and docks, and in the front of them marched this matriarch. I don't know how else to describe her. This big, imposing, like some Roman statue brought to life and given a gun. I kept thinking of my army days, cooking for the top brass. She

had the same eyes, like they didn't see people anymore, just assets and persistence. And if that wasn't enough, she had this huge custom rifle on her shoulder, like an anti-gelaf gun or something. There was no way it was UK legal. The thing looked like it could take out a jeep, never mind a stag, and it wasn't gilded or anything. It was dull and plain looking, despite its massive size. And you just knew that this was a gun for killing with, not showing off. It was her domain, as she reged of power and authority in every sense of the word, and when she spoke they all listened. She had the guns all lined up, facing us with their dogs at heel, and then they all

just stood there, watching the sun set as their staff and security all headed back into the house, leaving us alone with them. That was when I knew something was really wrong. The woman stepped forward with her dogs by her side and faced me with this bright and white smile, splitting her face under her electric blue eyes and gun-metal grey hair. Then she just locked eyes with me, began to carefully load the rifle without looking, punctuating each word with another cartridge. Are you prepared? she asked quietly.

As we can be, I replied. But then she raised her hand to silence me, and it was as though she had sucked a gag in my mouth. I couldn't even think of disobeying her, the words just died in my throat. She returned to the group, her dogs flanking the whole way, and her silhouette outlined in the blood-red dusklight. I couldn't make out any of the other faces' dazzle as I was by the light. Then she stood tall and proud and said with just the tiniest hint of anticipation. Let's begin then, shall we? As one, the hunters raised their rifles, and as one had levelled them at us as we stood transfixed under our gazebo. There's a very specific feeling you get when you're

staring down the barrel at Clutch Range. First the world gets very sharp and bright, and then the horizon sort of shrinks around you till it's no wider than the dark hole aiming straight at you. It'd have been a long time since I'd felt like that, but it was still so familiar. Too familiar. The woman hadn't raised her own weapon. Instead, she called, as though directing the firing squad. Hunt. None of us replied.

None of us even breathed. We stood completely still in silence. The only noise being the gentle breeze through the trees and the slight hiss of the red wine reduction boiling over beside me. There wasn't even any bird song. Then I realized she wasn't talking to the other guns. She was talking to us. After seconds that felt like hours, The woman seemed to grow impatient. Finally, she sighed and repeated, HUNT!

before shouldering her rifle, sighting and then hooking the trigger without hesitation. There was a deafening gunshot that starved at my ear drums, leaving them ringing and then a sudden clatter of someone falling to the ground behind me, dragging utensils down with them. I couldn't turn to see who was hit, but I think it was Stephen. It was only 23. I'll know it was a headshot, though. We don't forget that sound. Without lowering the rifle, she chambered another round and recited this time at me. She smiled greedily and then pumped her eyebrows just once.

Playfully. Hunt. And this time I understood. Without taking my eyes from her, I reached out and gently closed my hand around the handle of the cleaver in front of me. It shone, pristine and unblemished, ready for its bloody work. Then, slowly, so slowly, I raised it overhead, raisingacing myself for what followed. The woman grinned widely, her finger caressing the trigger. I brought my hand down sharply, smashing the cleaver into the face of Marcus, our sorcerer.

He couldn't even cry out as it cleft deep into the base of his neck, his arterial blood gushing out and down into the overly hot pot, releasing a plume of acrid iron smelling steam. I looked down at his carcass and then wiped the blood from my brow and yanked the blade free with a crunch before turning to the rest of my staff. They ran. The party ate well that night. All told, it didn't take long. Maybe a half hour at most. None of them got far.

I caught Deborah as she tried to hide up in a tree. Fair play to her. Almost made it up there despite being in her fifties. Myra tripped over a rabbit hole in the darkness. I think she tried to beg. I couldn't make out the words. The only one who gave me any real trouble was Boris. He was a big guy, nearly 6'5",

and that's a hell of a size difference, even with my training. But it wasn't enough. I had killed before, and he hadn't. He hesitated, and that was that. As I was packing up, the woman shook my hand and complimented me. Then the butler handed me a thick brown envelope. It was full of cash, and a note written in elegant cursive with just one word. Rub.

I did. Can't stay anywhere too long. Can't stop moving. I keep hearing dogs barking. And I don't know if it's just some pet or... I thought about handing myself into the police, but that just feels like trapping myself in a dead end. So I'm getting out of the country.

First the channel tunnel and then keep going until I've gone far enough that she can't... Wait... Oh no. Well run, dearie. Well run. Well, that was... Fascinating. Shit!

Excuse me? I was talking to the boys. Can I, um, can I help you? I'd rather think you might. What did you say your name was dear? I didn't. My we are an odd And braver than we look. You're not allowed to be in here. I was invited. A fine specimen. Strong and different. What is that?

Lady Mowbray? That's me, yes. I presume you're Gwendolen Bouchard? Yes. Thank you for coming in. If you'd like to follow me? Lady Mowbray? Of course.

Catch you next time, deary. No, you won't. Can I get you any refreshments, Lady Mowbray? No, thank you, dear. I recently ate. Of course. Bouchard? You wouldn't be one of the Cheshire Bouchards, would you?

Oh, well actually... There she is! Oh my god! It's the guy from the band! Gosh, I'm giddy! Not surprised, the way you were flailing about. How dare you! I am pushing the boundaries of what it means to dance. I won't argue with

that pint of water please me with ice thanks for coming Alice you didn't have to clearly I thought this was meant to be a little chill side gig thing so did I it turns out that things are really picking up hello yes it's at Glastonbury why yes we do have a minute. You joke, but the manager's already added seven more cities to the dredging mentor. Oh wow, fair play. Cheers mate. That's Sam by the way, it's been years since I saw that weedy git. Same as ever. Shame you couldn't make it tonight. That's Sam by the way, it's been years since I saw that weedy git.

Same as ever. Shame we couldn't make it tonight. Yeah, still sometimes it's nice to hang out and have a drink, just the two of us. Ah, I'm flattered. You should be. And since the show's over... Two pints of Doomba, cheers. There we go. There's so much air, but none inside as I go down. Again the cold surrounds and drags me down.

The blue, the black, the weight of all the sun fades away to me below the line of sea and sky. I kick, I lunge, I flail towards the brightened blue and break the third and final time. I know I'm spent. There is no more within me to save the salt-spun death that reaches down my throat. Uh, hi? Hello? Look and breathe inside me. Listen, I, uh, I don't have any spare...

Jesus! Are you... are you alright? Oh shit! Get off! Get off me! Let go! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Can you hear me? I'm calling for help, okay? Just hold on, yeah? Ambulance. Just round the back of the Gladstone Arms near Lant Street. Yeah, there's someone, I don't know if they've OD'd, but they're going into a fit or something.

Alice, yeah, wait, hang on. Oh shit, shit, she stopped breathing. Yeah. Yeah, just hurry I'm going to drink and say goodbye to the sun and hold my shit back with a drink I need a drink, drink, drink, drink and delete me from the plan I'm going to drink and say goodbye to the sun Shit, shit Shit, shit What, what is...

Oh shit! You... But... I'm sorry. I can't. down to the bottom that is not there. No sandy grave below the swell, no rest among the coral and the depths I feared so much. But reached up and overland to claim me still. The Magnus Protocol is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike 4.0 International Licence. 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 Hindle as Alistair, Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid, Anusha Batasbi as Gwen Bouchard, Lowry Ann Davis as Celia Ripley. The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner, with executive producers Alexander Janual, Danny McDonagh, Lynne C and Samantha F.com. Rate and reviews online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook or email us via mail at RustyQuill.com.

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