The Magnus Archives - The Magnus Protocol 3 – Putting Down Roots

Episode Date: January 25, 2024

CAT2C8175-03042009-22012024 Infection (full body) -/- arboreal [journal entry] Incident Elements: ·        Temporal Distortion·        Compulsion/OCD ·        Auditory Hallucinations·        Disorientation·        Hypochondria·        Paranoia·        Self-Injury Transcripts: https://shorturl.at/gzF15  This Episode is dedicated to Elias Becker 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 Graeme Patrick (for more of his work visit https://www.aintslayednobody.com/)Script Editing with Additional Materials by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J Newall 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)  Ryan Hopevere-Anderson as Colin BecherBillie Hindle as Alice DyerAlexander J Newall as Norris Shahan Hamza as Samama KhalidAnusia Battersby as Gwendolyn Bouchard Dialogue Editor – Nico Vettese Sound Designer – Meg McKellar Mastering Editor - Catherine Rinella Music 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.

This episode is dedicated to Elias Becker. They fear you for your fangs are sharp, your talons are of ice, your many eyes gleam with malice, and your feathers glisten with the ink that flows ever freely. Rustyquill Presents Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Protocol Episode 3 Putting Down Roots. To be continued... Come on What actually is a.jmj error?

What does it mean? Nothing It's just an excuse for the system to ruin my day, is what it is. I could try another computer. No. It's doing this on purpose, and that will only encourage it. Nothing's wrong, it just won't accept commands. I mean, same, but still. Do I need to call Lena before you break Freddy?

This is bordering on abuse. For me, or it. And what is Lena going to do, exactly? I don't know. Could be useful to have another witness when this escalates to murder. Some witness. She wouldn't know a DOS prompt if it bit her on the arse. Look, did you mess with the director or something?

Of course not. Why would I pick a fight with Freddy? That's your job Just work, please You utter bastard Just tell me what the error is Do you need something? Should I get the boot disc?

Do you need a goddamn ass ass? What? Do you want to phone a friend? Maybe central IT? They are not my friend, nor yours. They'll bury you in red tape just to replace a mouse mat. You know that. I know this system better than anyone alive,

and I still don't understand how it works. So I can guarantee you that none of those mouth breathers would even know where to begin with this steaming pile of sh... It's okay, Freddy baby. We're figuring it out, cutie. Don't hit on the computer while I'm working on it. Hey, I'm not the one on all fours. I'm serious. Don't give it a personality. You shouldn't even be calling it Freddy. Uh-huh. Because FR3-D1 just rolls so smoothly off the tongue.

Making friends with this god-awful program that tries to throw itself into oblivion every time I turn on a console is not cute. It's hard enough using every nanosecond of my waking life just to keep this Byzantine mess from crapping the bed without you taking the piss. Oh, come on, it's not that bad. Do you have any idea what will happen if this thing finally managed to extinct itself? We'd go home early. Maybe he just needs some positive reinforcement. Or maybe he just needs a good kick in the... Case. Homicide. Date. Thank Christ for that.

Hey, you fixed him. Here's Freddy. Wrong movie. Nah, we both know Robert England would have done it better. Cheers Colin, you're a star. I've got stacks to clear tonight, so just let it play and I'll go put the kettle on. You want

anything? Double scotch. Two day old black coffee it is. 03-04-2009 8.45am Collection. Kent CID Repository. Item, Journal of Dr. Samuel Weber, age 46, issued by Grief Counselor Harriet Manning. Found within a water-damaged black briefcase, partially buried, penetrated by moldy roots. Additional contents, water-damaged smartphone, wallet with Dr. Weber's ID and Visa Card.

Keys on a Gold Chain for 13 Marigold Drive. Partial Medical Files on Gerald Andrews, age 37, of 12 Castle Hill Avenue, and Maddy Weber, age 39, deceased. Case 1201-19, serial number 72003210. Collector, Special Constable Carolyn Jennings, 2911. Routing to, South East Evidence Storage, Lewisham. Relevant journal entries as follows. Date, 07-12-09, 10.03pm. Today was bedlam. I had it all planned out, all of it. And then a panic attack just choked the nerve out of me.

It was so humiliating. I felt like the ground was going to swallow me whole with everyone staring at me, only to roll their eyes at my hysterics, as the paramedics put it. They don't understand. I was so close to getting caught. But it's done. All I need to do now is disappear. I can't go home, not for a few days at least, and I'll have to avoid the usual haunts until they forget about me again. That won't be difficult. What's one more stressed doctor, just a grey man in a crowd, unnoticed until I'm useful. One man kept staring at me on the tube. He looked like he was connecting the dots. I'm paranoid, I know, lying low

amongst wildflowers in an overgrown garden. The mud has ruined my shoes. There's not much in my briefcase. Still, listing helps keep it all straight. Files on the star-crossed couple. Monday morning's rounds. I hope Mrs Campbell's op went okay. Nine were there's originals, because at some point I became an old man and didn't notice. Pens, prescription pads. Oyster card, still valid. £23.22 cash. Thought it was 24, but one of the coins was a worn-down euro. Not sure what the exchange rate is. This journal, obviously. Thank you, counsellor. I'm more likely to use it for kindling than expressing my feelings. And my phone. 43% battery. One bar. They can track SIM cards, can't they? I should probably destroy it. Better cut off than caught.

It's almost midnight. Why isn't it darker? I didn't pack a lunch. I didn't expect I'd need one. Didn't expect to get this far. I wonder how long I'll have to stay here before they stop locking. I should probably eat a Werther's. Just the one, though. Christ, I'm reduced to rationing sweets. I need to find somewhere dry.

Why did I choose to hide here anyway? I could try a hostel. Would I need to show ID for that? I could lie. Use a false name. I could be Gerald Andrews. I'm sure Maddy would have loved that. I remember now.

It was the jasmine. That perfume in the drizzling rain that drew me in. It reminds me so much of her. Maddy loved the scent of jasmine. Loved a garden. She would have adored this place, tucked away amongst the ugly brick back streets. She would have quizzed me about the plants and I would have told her I didn't know. I didn't even know gardens could bloom this late in the year. or I didn't know. I didn't even know gardens could bloom this late in the year. I wasn't really thinking when I pushed my way through the gates, just following my nose to memories of happier times, I suppose. The scent is much more pungent here than it was outside, an almost overwhelming sickly sweet rot amongst the bushes. Maddy would know what it was. But it's dark and quiet, that's the main thing. The garden seems unmanaged,

which suits me fine. It's growing wild around the ruins of some bombed-out church. Nice to see nature healing old wounds. I scratched up my hands and face fighting past the bushes beneath one of the old arches. I'm cold, but it's worth it. No one will find me here. but it's worth it. No one will find me here. It is so quiet. The dense foliage deadens the city noise to a whisper. I can barely make out the sirens. I doubt they are for me, but I'm staying put anyway. I don't have much choice. Where would I go? I can't go home, that's the first place they'd look. Besides, too many memories there, and their other neighbours, always snooping around with their community watch flyers. I won't miss parking scheme meetings, that's for sure.

List of alternative bolt holes. Uncle T's allotment. Safe, but about nine miles away, too far. Daily chicken eggs are a plus, but not exactly private. Besides, the rooster would be a problem. Hospital basement. This would have been the best solution, but getting there unseen is a problem now, and no easy way to get food. It definitely would have been warmer and drier, though, with the boiler on all day. I'm safer here in my little sanctuary. Sodden and sore,

but safe. I suppose there is one other possibility. The lockup. I still have a key. My name isn't on the lease anymore, and it's secure and dry, but Maddy stored her stuff there after she moved out. I'm not sure I could face being surrounded by all that history, even if it would be more comfy. I can't sleep. This itch is killing me. Even the numbing cold from lying on the ground doesn't dull it. It must be an anaphylactic response to something. The rash runs up my entire left side. I'll try and find a better spot when the sun's up. Thought I heard someone calling my name. No flashlight, though. No movement. Just the voice.

Sounds like Maddy. My hands won't stop shaking. It's well after midnight. It should be pitch black, but I can still make out grey shapes in the gloom. The voice is still calling for me. I've got to stay still, even though my heart is racing. I think there were some branches cracking, but I can't tell from where. Morning soon but I can still hear her out there moving around in the garden. I almost called back as I dozed. My phone died.

Just my luck. I can see enough to ride so it must be just before dawn. God knows I need the warmth. The rash is getting worse and my scratches will get infected if I don't clean them. I examined one on my forearm and it seems to be secreting something full of coiled translucent strands. Hair thin, their roots broke away easily when I pulled with a dull tear I could feel as much as hear. I've never seen anything like this before, but I was never great at dermatology. If I had the proper tools, this would be far simpler. Must get a scalpel and a mirror.

I've cleaned the scratches as best I can, but there's now a stabbing pain in my abdomen if I move. Current condition. I taste aniseed. My nose is running. Normal mucus, thank god. The rash has spread across the whole of my back now, and if I move I can feel the toughened area split and weak like a scab. I'm feeling very lethargic. Probably hypothermia. Not good. My fingernails are black with dirt, although I don't remember digging. The scratches are all weeping now, struggling not to fall back into vivid dreams. I need to get up. Get out of here for treatment. I'll have to chance the pharmacist at least. I saw one a few streets away. I'm not local, so I doubt they'd recognise me.

I do still have my prescription pad with me, but using my own paperwork would be incredibly foolish. This place is far bigger than I thought. Followed the birch trees and the canopies over that cobbled path near the close, lined with moss. There's a dense wall of thickets overwhelming the boundary fence. I know it, I remember that. Can't hear the traffic at all now. It's hard to keep moving. I can't find an entrance. I resorted to shouldering my way out through the tangled bushes like before. It hurts so much, but I made it, only to find more garden on the other side. It looks the same. I think Maddy's still here too. It looks the same. I think Maddy's still here, too. Jasmine everywhere. The smell stings where it touches me, but that doesn't make sense.

I wonder if it's psychosomatic. A guilty conscience with comorbid pneumonia. I'm back in the undergrowth. I'm not sure if I ever got up at all. I don't remember coming back. My feet have swollen. Something is very wrong. If I don't get to the pharmacy now, I doubt I ever will. I've managed to push my feet back into my shoes with some pruning, but I'm struggling to stand. Maddy makes a good point, though. Doctors do make the worst patients.

We are always self-diagnosing, and it's always doom and gloom. She offered to go and get my supplies herself. She always was kind. I'll just try to keep warm and sleep until the sun comes out. I so much want to see it again. This night seems endless. I want to be warm again. I want to be warm again. I am terribly afraid. Thank God for Maddy. I need to treat her better. She'll be back soon with medicine. Condition update.

Dry mouth and swollen tongue. Tasting burnt aniseed now. The fingers of my left hand are nearly immobile. Right is not much better. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to write. The pain in my abdomen has passed and the seeping has mostly stopped, but my back aches. I definitely have an infection. The scratches are budding some kind of polyps and the slightest touch feels like jabbing an exposed nerve. I stink of jasmine. At least I think I do. I just need to rest, and it's safe enough here. Maddy still hasn't returned, though. I hope she's okay. I miss her laughter, and that smile.

I worry when she is out alone. She will talk to anyone, like Gerald. I never liked him. to anyone, like Gerald. I never liked him. I should make more time for her. I'm too busy and work far too much. I get home and just go to sleep. I need to be careful or we'll drift apart. I don't know what I would do if I thought I had lost her. I'm not alone here though. I'm covered in insects. They seem to enjoy feasting on my wounds, so I let them. Besides, they scratch the itches. My left arm is now completely numb and the skin is splitting down to the bone. I remove the phalanges, tugging them out like stones from a peach. I planted them deep. Flies swarm the wound. Soon there will be maggots eating only the dead flesh and leaving the living nature is so wonderful so efficient nothing is wasted in the garden I can see my bones are

tangled with the same fine strands as my wounds it's fascinating to see I should write a paper of course if the infection reaches the marrow, there could be complications. I could take more drastic measures, but I would need something to cut with, something strong and heavy. A rock, perhaps? Could I? Should I? I can't tell how long I slept. Still no sun. Maddy, is that you? You're right. I should stay. She has come back to me, just a whisper, but it is her. I knew she would never leave me. She says there is a spot where I can sit out in the sun and feel the wind on my face. What would I do without her? We have decided not to remove any more of me as my condition develops.

Maddy feels it isn't prudent now that the vomiting has passed. It was touch and go there for a while, but I think I've gotten most of the rot out and made enough room to grow. We'll monitor the progression, of course, with a strict regimen of fresh air, sunshine and rest. The polyp should be blooming soon. Condition update. I've gained some good weight and my skin is pulling away nicely, like blanched tomatoes. My legs will be non-responsive soon. I need to finalise my position before then, but there are many variables to consider. Maddy is advising. The roots have freed themselves from the weight of my meat

as it sags from my bones and drops to the dirt. No green fly or other parasites. I remain quite healthy. The clouds have finally broken and the azure skies are so bright, almost blinding. We are blessed with such a radiant joy of warmth and love sitting within our garden together. The thought of all those years behind me toiling in the dark, ignoring nourishment for myself and others, so withdrawn.

But no longer. I have so much time now, out in the light. But strangely, deep inside me, beneath the roots, there is something that still shakes with terror. I don't see why. The sun is bright, my roots run deep, and the breeze is fresh and clear. I think I shall stay here for a good long while. Pour us one, would you? Sure. Yeah, I didn't catch all of it, but that one sounded fun. What do I even file it as?

I doubt there's a code for a parasitic garden that whispers with the voice of the woman he clearly murdered and sort of turns you into a tree? Infection, comma, arboreal. Crosslink it with guilt if you're feeling fancy. Of course. Cheers. What? I'm just thinking. Would you fancy doing me a favour?

It depends. Nothing sordid. Not good. It's just, would you call central IT for me? I thought Colin fixed your computer. He did, with a lecture on top, and quite frankly, I'm sick of getting it in the neck every time Freddy throws a wobbly. We all know the system's a mess. Colin's told us like a billion times that he's the one always fiddling with the system, and, well... You think he's causing the issues?

I'm just beginning to wonder if he knows what he's doing with all that spaghetti code. I checked with Central myself, but if Colin catches me, he'll pitch a fit. Oh, right, but he and I are just so close right now, after your stunt on my first night. Ah, but you're new. You can just claim ignorance. God knows that's believable. You're basically an ickle baby foal wobbling around the paddock with your little stick legs. Oh, thanks for that. You're welcome. wobbling around the paddock with your little stick legs. Thanks for that.

You're welcome. Look, Alice, I really don't want to rock the boat right now. Everyone seems pretty dense as it is. All I'm saying is that Colin tinkers with this system all the time and I don't see any oversight. If you queried upstairs asking about it, all bambi-eyed and innocent, some alarms might go off. They might even come down and do a

refresh or reboot or whatever. Hmm. You give a pretty convincing argument. Thank you. But it's a no from me, I'm afraid. You've made a powerful enemy tonight. Better than being force-fed my own keyboard by Colin. Fair point. Are you working on the 27th, Alice? I've got a thing, and you know what Lena's like. Good evening, Gwendolyn.

Must we do this every time? Fine. What's the thing? It's really not your concern. Just are you working or not? See, now I really need to know. What do you reckon, Sam? I'm not getting dragged into this. Alice, I don't have time for this. It's simple. Yes or no. It would be such a shame for you to miss out just because you wouldn't tell me. Sounds rather petty, doesn't it, Sam?

Stop. It is dinner with friends, if you must know. That's all. Let me guess. Fancy gowns, champagne, bathing in the blood of the poor, that sort of thing. You know we make the same, Alice. An old friend just made partner at her law firm. She wants to celebrate. You sound thrilled. Oh, I can't wait to catch up and tell them that I'm still working in the same cesspit I was last time they asked. Oh, come on, it's not that bad. Are you working or not? The 27th, yes or no? Fine. Yes, I'm working that night. I'm working every night. I was born down here and I'll die down here. Happy? Are any of us?

Lex. 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 Graham Patrick

and edited with additional materials by Jonathan Sims and Alexander J. Newell, 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 Alice Dyer, Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid. Anuja Battersby as Gwen Bouchard.

Ryan Hopevere-Anderson as Colin Becker. With additional voices from Alexander J. Newell. The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner, with executive producers Alexander J. Newell, Danny McDonagh, Lynn See, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton. And associate producers Jordan L. Hawke, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius de Raven, and Megan Nice. To subscribe, view associated materials, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill,

visit us on Facebook, or email us at mail at RustyQuill.com. Thanks for listening. To be continued... an award-winning tabletop actual play horror podcast. You can listen to Ain't Slayed Nobody by following the link in the show notes below, or you can find it at RustyQuill.com. To give you an idea of Ain't Slayed Nobody, here's a quick trailer. Ellie wanted justice. I'm gonna fire on him. Johnny was a drifter.

Miss Ellie, if you ain't got the stomach for it, I'd be obliged. Lance had a score to settle. The only reason I done this is because you have no honor on ya. Father Flint heard a different call. I am not necessarily the best man of God you ever met. And Jeremiah?

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