---
layout:          post
title:           "MAG176 - ########-16 - Blood Ties"
date:            2020-07-16 12:00:00 -0400
categories:      episode
tags:            [Martin Blackwood, The Archivist, Basira Hussain, Trevor Herbert]
statement_of:    []
recorder:        []
voiced:          [Martin Blackwood, The Archivist, Basira Hussain, Trevor Herbert]
episode_title:   'Blood Ties'
episode_number:  '176'
case_number:     '#######-16'
statement_date:  
recording_date:  
event_date:      
summary:         "An examination of pack tactics. <br/><br/>Audio recorded by the Archivist, in situ."
content_flags:   ["Explicit language", "Misogynistic language", "Hostage situation", "Victimisation / Scapegoating", "Evisceration", "Blades", "Character death", "SFX for gunshot, evisceration, panicked breathing"]
acast_url:       https://play.acast.com/s/themagnusarchives/mag176-bloodties
formats:
  Google Doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/13l9RN_TfvYD4V96hAJve4K6mJEAIeR562eE6eTk8G2A/edit
  PDF: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ngTA64lQa2GpkcjC8swESFOYVumt7zWR/view
official:        false
unofficial:      https://tmatranscripts.tumblr.com/post/623824050313166848/mag176-blood-ties-case-16pdf
unofficial_name: tmatranscripts.tumblr.com
wiki_url:        https://the-magnus-archives.fandom.com/wiki/MAG_176:_Blood_Ties
---

##### [EXT. A DOMAIN OF THE HUNT]

##### [TAPE CLICKS ON.]

##### [The bags jingle and the ground crunches as the Archivist and Martin walk through what sounds like dense-ish foliage. The air is still, but in the way that still air can be "loud," obtrusive in the background.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Hold on, take it easy.

##### [The bags jingle again as they come to a stop.]

#### ARCHIVIST

What?

#### MARTIN

I'm going at a normal pace; you're the one that's slowing down!

#### ARCHIVIST

_(quite put out)_ I am *not*.

#### MARTIN

You are!

##### [They're both making an attempt to whisper/keep their voices low even as they argue.]

#### MARTIN

You're dragging your feet. What's up? _(beat)_ What aren't you telling me?

##### [In the background, a bird trills loudly.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Martin, please. I'm trying to find our way to Basira.

#### MARTIN

_(:))_ *Talk* to me, John.

#### ARCHIVIST

I'm __fine__.

##### [Pause.]

#### MARTIN

Glad to hear. And the fact that we're hunting our friend in a domain *of* the Hunt isn't getting to you at *all?* Not even a little bit? Hmm?

##### [The bird keeps going.]

#### ARCHIVIST

I don't like betraying someone's trust like this.

#### MARTIN

_(gentle)_ It's not a betrayal if you're doing it to help.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(rueful half-laugh)_ I'm not so sure.

#### MARTIN

Look, if it was me in her shoes, I'm sure I'd forgive you. It-It's for the best!

#### ARCHIVIST

Mm.

#### MARTIN

Look, you'll feel better about it when it's done. Okay? Putting it off -- it's, it's just going to make you feel worse.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(slightly lower)_ *Mm.*

##### [Pause.]

#### MARTIN

Besides, I thought the Hunt was meant to make you go faster.

#### ARCHIVIST

Depends on the type of pursuit. _(exhale)_ Besides, the chase isn't really the point of this particular place.

#### MARTIN

Oh no?

#### ARCHIVIST

No.

#### MARTIN

...I can't believe I'm asking this, but what *is* the point, then?

#### ARCHIVIST

...Have you ever had your friends turn on you? People you thought you could count on?

##### [Martin makes a couple of sounds that translate to *how to put this?*]

#### MARTIN

I mean... _(another sound of indecision)_ I, I worry about it, but -- but, actually, no? Not like a full-blown betrayal or anything.

#### ARCHIVIST

I'm glad. _(inhale)_ Because this place focuses on that worry, that fear of your own pack turning their claws on you.

##### [Martin lets out a little *hm*.]

#### MARTIN

Is that... really a Hunt thing?

#### ARCHIVIST

Can be. The old divisions don't mean as much these days. Maybe they never did. The domains are... smaller, more -- personal than the powers.

They don't just *feed* on the worst fears of the people trapped there; they're *shaped* by them, too. It's enough to fear the domain itself, if not the entire power behind it.

##### [Martin does another little *hm*.]

#### MARTIN

_(somewhat begrudgingly)_ You should get that on a mug. 'You don't have to fear the Hunt to be trapped here...'

#### ARCHIVIST

_(exhales)_ But it helps.

#### MARTIN

Look, so can we just -- move on?

##### [He takes a step.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Soon.

#### MARTIN

Look, John, I didn't want to say this, but we either need to move *on* or you need to tell me what's *going* on because -- _(breaks off, steadying inhale)_ I think we're being followed.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(no hesitation)_ We are.

#### MARTIN

Oh. 'Kay. That's not actually what I wanted to hear.

#### ARCHIVIST

I know, that's why I didn't mention it before.

#### MARTIN

_(inhale)_ But we're *safe*, right?

#### ARCHIVIST

As long as you remain calm, yes, absolutely.

##### [Pause.]

#### MARTIN

So -- So are you *going* to tell me what's going on? What the plan is?

#### ARCHIVIST

We're going to find Basira.

#### MARTIN

_(passive-aggressiveness kicking in)_ *No*, John, that's the *goal*. _(faster)_ What I want is the plan, the steps in between that need us to be hunted through the woods. I'm flying *blind* here, I'm --

##### [The bird from earlier starts up again, and Martin falters into silence.]

#### ARCHIVIST

_(exhaling)_ Yeah. I'm sorry. I do know what I'm doing.

#### MARTIN

How nice for you, but *I don't*, unless you tell me! How-How are you even going to approach Basira?

##### [Bird.]

#### ARCHIVIST

It's tricky. She's -- _(inhale)_ She's had a bad time.

#### MARTIN

_(slight scoff)_ I mean -- haven't we all?

#### ARCHIVIST

No. No, we haven't.

##### [Slight pause, and then:]

#### MARTIN

Right.

#### ARCHIVIST

If we approach her directly, she's likely to bolt. And she can move a lot quicker than we can.

#### MARTIN

Yeah, okay, but I'm still not hearing a plan as such.

#### ARCHIVIST

I --

#### MARTIN

What?

#### ARCHIVIST

Uh -- Hold on.

#### MARTIN

Oh my god, are you actually serious, right now?

#### ARCHIVIST

I'm sorry!

##### [Martin sighs.]

#### MARTIN

Fine. Just -- I'll keep a lookout, be quick.

#### ARCHIVIST

I'll do my best.

##### [He rustles his way through the surroundings a bit to put some distance between him and Martin.]

##### [Then, his static kicks in, and:]

#### ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Feet pound silent whisper silent blood on lips blood on teeth blood scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit.

Teeth smile. Ready to kill.

##### [In the background, under his words, we hear the jagged breath of someone running, someone running in fear.]

The lashing branches reach and claw and try to hold back the charging vengeance of the pack. But they slip, and fall away.

The killers make no sound as they move across the forest floor, their steps quick and certain.

##### [We hear them running.]

In the distance they hear the crashing stumble of the one who *deserves* to be hunted, all stealth forgotten in the panicked flight from righteous cleansing violence.

There are no names among the pack, no words, only a razor-keen unity of purpose, a shared loathing of the sickly scent of the one they chase.

A mutual determination that their quarry does not deserve to live.

If any were able to form the words to express them, no doubt the crimes listed of their prey would be as varied as the pack themselves, and some, perhaps, even true.

But that is not important, not really. Not the driving, pounding need behind the hunt, what spurs pursuit of tooth and claw is not some calmly made assessment or judgement on the weight of the hunted's sin.

It is the need to tear and rend and coat their faces slick with the blood of the guilty that pulses through every fibre of them. The thumping need inside their head to *hate*, and to be *right* within that hate. To taste the blood of those who have declared themselves *deserving* of it.

But as the pack runs, each and all among them are afraid.

Of what?

The pounding in their heart drowns out the unease, makes it hard to taste and feel it out, but it is there.

Are they afraid of their prey, fleeing in abject terror, their trail marked clear by the scent of fear? No, it can't be.

But what else could it be? Surely not their packmates, sprinting along the side, leaping, jumping, grinning in anticipation, moving as a group, their minds as one, never looking each other in the eye.

Up ahead, the quarry trips, cries out, tumbles to the floor in a desperate heap. They try to stagger to their feet but they are caught in the undergrowth, ankle twisted, vine wrapped around it.

They already lost their boots, and now their bare and muddy foot is trapped, flesh and dirt and oozing blood, the blood that fills the nostrils of these hunters, and drives their furious chase with the awful scent of its transgression.

Tears flow, too, but no one notices, and no one *cares*. Their punishment is at hand.

In moments, the prey is surrounded. The spaces between the trees are filled with eyes that hate and hands that hold the promise of a life ended on the rotting leaves of the forest floor.

They smile, and their teeth glint in the moonlight, still red with all that remains of their last morsel of prey.

They begin to step closer. One step. Two steps. When the prey turns, they are still, but they surround in all directions, moving slowly when they are not being watched.

*What's the time, Mr. Wolf?* The time to run is over. The time to *suffer* has arrived.

But there is one last burst of strength within the prey. Not strength of arm, or speed of escape -- what good is fight-or-flight in this place? But a strength of voice, of bitter, *angry* recrimination. Hurling accusations upon their pursuers: *hypocrites*,*bullies*,*pathetic wretches that would hound the innocent so.*

Perhaps the prey earnestly believes it, casts themself full woeful into the mold of victim, of one who has done no wrong.

Or perhaps they feel within themself the weight of the sin stinking out of them, flaring the hearts of their persecutors, but see in the faces that approach them those same transgressions shining, reflected back upon them.

It doesn't matter in the end; the cry is the same: "This isn't *fair.* This isn't *right*."

The pack descends and the prey is silenced, protests cut short by teeth digging into throat, nails piercing skin and clawing at gristle, bones shattering under relentless, *merciless* blows.

And the blood and bile flow freely, exciting the pack to ever-greater raptures of cruelty, of pure and cleansing rage.

They taste their fury in every corner of them. There is no sound to break their peace but the wet ripping of flesh and the occasional transcendent scream of deserved agony.

And then it is over.

There is a moment, a single, holy moment of blessed absolution, washed clean in sweet and sticky blood.

And then the unease returns. The uncertainty and fear that at some moments gripped them throughout their pursuit.

They look around from one to another, aware as they stand over the twitching remains, that they are suddenly without prey.

Expressions sharpen, eyes narrow, growls begin to bubble up deep from within each chest. They are afraid.

They can each smell it wafting from the others, but who will it be? Who is the most afraid?

Which of them held back? Which of them -- *there*. You. Blood on your hands, no doubt; blood on your lips -- but not much. Not much at all.

Perhaps you couldn't get close enough; there were so many hunters, after all. Or perhaps you stayed your hand out of mercy. Out of... sympathy.

Perhaps you stink of that same sin.

No words need to be spoken, no accusations put in so coarse a form as voice. The pack immediately knows which among them is no longer theirs, which has exposed their own inequity.

Which is now prey.

##### [We hear the singled-out ex-Hunter gasp and turn to run.]

The prey turns and runs, all grace of the Hunt forgotten as they stumble, crashing through undergrowth and dirt.

Behind them, feet pound silent.

##### [Static rises and fades.]

##### [The Archivist exhales.]

#### ARCHIVIST

I'm done.

##### [Pause, and then he picks his way back.]

#### ARCHIVIST

You alright?

#### MARTIN

_(snapping)_ Just *peachy*. _(softening)_ I don't -- I don't know; I feel like I saw something in the trees.

#### ARCHIVIST

You did.

#### MARTIN

_(clearly on edge)_ Oh! Fantastic. You're very reassuring, you know that?

##### [The bird trills again as he speaks.]

#### MARTIN

Is it that -- pack thing you were talking about?

#### ARCHIVIST

No, they'd have -- _(inhale, quick exhale)_ They'd have no interest in us. We're not one of them.

#### MARTIN

Look, John, if -- if you know what it is, then why don't you just *tell me,* so that --

#### ARCHIVIST

_(overlapping)_ Hold up.

Sh.

##### [But Martin has reached his limit:]

#### MARTIN

Wh-- no! No, John; you just *did* a statement; I don't *care* if you want another one, we've gotta move --

#### ARCHIVIST

_(cutting him off)_ *Martin*.

##### [Martin stops.]

##### [Pause, in which there is some quiet movement.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Right. Martin, do you trust me?

#### MARTIN

What? Ah, *Christ*, this can't be good. Yes?

#### ARCHIVIST

Then it's very -- listen, _(movement)_ -- look at me. The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I'm sorry.

#### MARTIN

Uh -- _(sounds of incomprehension)_ Sorry, what?

#### ARCHIVIST

You need to remain very calm, and don't make any sudden movements.

#### MARTIN

Oh, okay, *now* I'm worried; what d'you --

##### [He's cut off by a rush of movement; his words turn to tiny gasps, and then are cut off completely -- hand over his mouth?]

##### [Something -- no, some*one* -- growls.]

#### TREVOR HERBERT

_(with some desperation)_ *Don't move! Don't you __fucking__ move!*

##### [Martin gasps out a choked breath.]

#### TREVOR

_(to the Archivist)_ And don't *you* say a word, or I'll cut him open! I know what that voice of yours can do, so *shut it!*

#### ARCHIVIST

_(best customer service voice)_ Mhm.

##### [There is silence but for Trevor's ragged breathing for a moment.]

##### [Then:]

#### TREVOR

_(exhaling)_ Okay. You can talk. But slow-like. You try and do any of that -- *word magic*, and he's dead.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(slowly)_ Understood.

##### [Trevor exhales heavily.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Hello, Trevor.

#### MARTIN

_(afraid, trying not to show it)_ John? What's going on?

#### ARCHIVIST

It's okay. Trust me.

#### MARTIN

_(high)_ Okay.

#### TREVOR

It's *not* okay. Stop *fucking* smiling!

##### [He must tighten his grip, because Martin lets out a pained sound.]

#### MARTIN

_(voice shaking, trying to sound unaffected)_ John? I know you keep saying we're safe, and I am feeling very calm, but just so I know -- Can he -- Can he kill me?

#### ARCHIVIST

He could, yes.

#### MARTIN

Right.

#### ARCHIVIST

If he were still a Hunter.

#### TREVOR

_(hissing)_ *Shut it.* 'Course I'm still a Hunter!

##### [He tightens his grip or digs in the knife or emphasizes whatever he's got again; Martin lets out a slightly louder pained sound.]

##### [Trevor's breathing is heavy, and he grunts.]

#### MARTIN

_(the customer is always right!)_ Mmhmhm -- gotta go with Trevor on that one, John!

#### ARCHIVIST

_(low)_ No. Right now he's prey.

##### [The bird from earlier trills.]

#### ARCHIVIST

How long have you been running now, Trevor?

##### [Trevor's breathing becomes even more ragged, more fearful.]

#### TREVOR

Don't know. Too long.

#### ARCHIVIST

And Julia?

##### [Pause. Bird.]

#### TREVOR

Dead.

#### ARCHIVIST

I'm sorry.

#### TREVOR

*Shut it!*

##### [But it's tearful. It's lost some of its bite.]

#### TREVOR

Should've been me. I'm old. Slow. _(breathing harder, tearful)_ It's not fair, outliving her.

But that dog of yours, that rabid *bitch --* she -- _(loses words)_ Killed her first, so she could see me limp away.

It's a game to her.

#### ARCHIVIST

If you're looking for my pity, I'm afraid it's too late.

#### MARTIN

John...?

#### TREVOR

_(gaining fuel again)_ What I *want*, is to make *you* feel the *same* loss!

#### MARTIN

_(!!)_ *John!*

#### ARCHIVIST

It's *okay*, Martin. _(to Trevor)_ Maybe I spoke too soon. Maybe I do have some pity for you.

After all, I know you, Trevor; you've had a tough life. Hardship from beginning to -- _(small heh)_ This strange and twisted end.

#### TREVOR

Never complained.

#### ARCHIVIST

No. You haven't, have you? And maybe that's the greatest tragedy of all this.

I'm -- sorry, Trevor.

##### [Silence but for Trevor's breathing, which slowly gains in intensity.]

#### TREVOR

*For __what?__*

#### ARCHIVIST

For putting us all in this situation. I had hoped you'd go for me, but -- well.

I'm sorry I've reduced you lower even than prey.

#### MARTIN

*John?...*

##### [Trevor snorts, but not in an offhand way. In the way that a cornered horse or bull might.]

#### TREVOR

*No.*

#### ARCHIVIST

To *bait.*

#### MARTIN

_(breathing faster)_ Don't --

##### [__Gunshot.__]

##### [Martin whimpers.]

#### MARTIN

_(recovering, high)_ Oh-hoh. *Hoh*. *Christ,* you just -- He jus--

##### [He lets out an incomprehensible sound.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Relax, Martin.

#### MARTIN

_(__very__ high)_ I, I'm not gonna -- I'm not gonna *relax*; I'm sick of never knowing what's going on, and then --

##### [As he speaks, there are footsteps, coming closer across the brush.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Hello, Basira.

#### MARTIN

_(exhale)_ I -- E-- _(more incomprehensible stuttering)_ *Basira?*

#### BASIRA

Don't move. Either of you.

#### MARTIN

_(still kinda high)_ Hey! Hey, hey. *Whoa*. Whoa, Basira, it's us.

#### BASIRA

I *said* don't move. This place plays tricks.

#### ARCHIVIST

It *is* us, Basira.

#### BASIRA

_(__yeah, right__)_ Mhm? Sure. And you just happened to wander right into Trevor's path when I was tracking him. What a fun coincidence for everybody.

#### ARCHIVIST

Not a coincidence.

##### [The bird trills.]

#### MARTIN

_(with some effort)_ Can I at least put my hands down? M-M,My arms are kinda getting tired.

#### BASIRA

Prove you're real.

#### MARTIN

I -- *Wh,What?* Like, like -- pinch... you, or?

##### [There's a tiny snicker from the Archivist as he trails off.]

#### BASIRA

Prove you're really Martin Blackwood.

#### MARTIN

*How?*

#### ARCHIVIST

_(picture of innocence)_ You could do a poem.

#### BASIRA

Shut up.

#### MARTIN

_(hissing)_ *John, this is __serious__!*

#### BASIRA

What's something only Martin would know?

##### [Pause.]

#### MARTIN

*What?* I don't know!

#### BASIRA

Fine. Then --

##### [We hear her cock the gun.]

#### MARTIN

No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no, wait, wait, uh -- I -- oh, I don't know, we've never hung out much! I've no idea what you know about me!

##### [Pause as Basira considers this. Another, different bird screeches in the background.]

##### [Basira shifts to the Archivist.]

#### BASIRA

What about you?

#### ARCHIVIST

I mean -- _(holding back laugh, badly)_ I can know *literally* anything, so -- ask away I guess.

#### BASIRA

You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identities.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(audible grin)_ I'm sorry to be an inconvenience.

#### BASIRA

Well, you better think of something, or...

##### [She waggles the gun.]

#### ARCHIVIST

Basira, I *know* you're not going to shoot us. There's already too much doubt in your mind.

##### [Pause.]

#### BASIRA

I told you before not to look into my head.

#### ARCHIVIST

_(smug)_ So you *do* believe it's me, then.

##### [Brief pause.]

#### BASIRA

Know-it-all prick.

##### [We hear her put the gun away.]

#### MARTIN

So -- Can I -- ?

#### BASIRA

Yeah, put them down, Martin. It's fine. You're you.

##### [Martin does so, and in the process lets out a huge sigh of relief. And another. And another, as Basira and the Archivist keep talking:]

#### ARCHIVIST

You're sure?

#### BASIRA

If you were monsters, that would mean I'd finally get to kill something with your smug face. No way am I that lucky.

#### ARCHIVIST

Can't fault your logic.

#### BASIRA

Come on. You've wasted enough time already.

#### MARTIN

Wh-- _(sputtering)_ Wh-- Hey, wait!

#### BASIRA

I *said* come on!

##### [She starts walking.]

#### MARTIN

Wh--! *Wh--! John?*

##### [The Archivist just shoulders his bag with a jingle.]

#### ARCHIVIST

_(enjoying this __way__ too much)_ *After you*.

##### [Martin sighs.]

##### [TAPE CLICKS OFF.]