---
layout:          post
title:           "MAGP 12 - Getting Off"
date:            2024-04-18 15:00:00 # in UTC = GMT = London time
episode_type:      episode
tags:            []
voiced:          []
categories:			"tmagp"
podcasts: ["tmagp"]
title_prefix:	"MAGP"
prev_categories: ["tmagp"]
prev_prefixes: ["MAGP"]
prev_episode:	['011']
prev_episode_num:		['011']
prev_episode_title:		["Marked"]
next_categories: ["tmagp"]
next_prefixes: ["MAGP"]
next_episode:	['013']
next_episode_num:		['013']
next_episode_title:		["Futures"]
episode_title:   'Getting Off'
episode_number:  '012'
summary:         "CAT1RB4728-09032024-13032024<br/>Mascot (kids) -/- frenzy [insurance claim]"
content_flags:   ["Mascots", "Bonzo", "Graphic Violence", "Gore", "Mentions of: blood, dismemberment"]
acast_url:      https://shows.acast.com/themagnusarchives/episodes/the-magnus-protocol-12-getting-off
formats:
    Official PDF: https://rustyquillcom.sharepoint.com/:f:/g/ElFMfJSzHzRMhhWGghFX8E8Bg27o0_Amiemvu0Hqq8D6Yg
official:        true
notes:          "Edited with help from [Lime]"
---

#### ANNOUNCER

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 terrorize our friends with it too.

##### [Intro Theme]

#### ANNOUNCER

Rusty Quill Presents: The Magnus Protocol.

Episode Twelve -- Getting Off.

##### [Music]

------

<!-- 1. INT. O.I.A.R. BREAKROOM- NIGHT, CLEAR(CCTV) CELIA is searching cupboards in the breakroom without much luck, she is clearly *very* tired. SAM enters.  -->

##### [The echoey CCTV audio starts up with some whirring and beeping]

##### [Sounds of someone rattling through cupboards]

##### [A tired sigh]

##### [Footsteps enter:]

#### SAM

The secret tunnel is actually hidden behind the fridge, so... 

#### CELIA

_(amused)_ Cheers, I'd have been here all night.

##### [CELIA yawns. SAM snorts.]

#### CELIA

Tea. Need tea. 

#### SAM

Oh, er... middle cupboard on the left, isn't it?

#### CELIA

_(darkly)_ Empty. 

#### SAM

Ah, well if it's not there, I'm afraid we might just be out. 

#### CELIA

Eurgh. 

#### SAM

Tell you what. Give me a moment...

##### [SAM rushes off]

##### [CELIA closes the cabinets]

##### [A short glitch -- the CCTV zooming?]

##### [After a bit, Sam reenters, slightly out of breath.]

#### SAM

_(hiding his breathlessness)_ H-Here you go.

##### [He hands her something]

#### CELIA

Oh, you *stunner!* Where did you find that? 

#### SAM

I've learned that keeping my fancy Assam in breakroom cupboards is a quick way to lose it. 

#### CELIA

What? Oh, no, you don't have to --

#### SAM

_(still panting slightly)_ It's all good, really. 

#### CELIA

But --

#### SAM

Celia, take the tea bag. I have more.

##### [Celia yawns despite herself]

#### CELIA

_(sighing)_ Thanks, I owe you. 

#### SAM

No, it's -- er...

##### [Pause. Sam fidgets while Celia makes tea.]

##### [Another CCTV glitch similar to the one before]

#### SAM

_(too casual)_ Hey, wouldn't you maybe want to go out and grab a cup with... me, some time?

-- Of tea. Or -- coffee. Breakfast?

##### [Celia hesitates.] 

#### SAM

-- Or not, I mean you don't have to, obviously. Just a thought. Not, like, in exchange for the teabag or anything, I-I just meant that --

#### CELIA

No, I'd love to, it's just... 

#### SAM

_(deflated)_ You're busy. 

#### CELIA

No! Well, actually yes, sort of, but it's not like that. It's just... complicated. _(a breath)_ I would need to sort some stuff out first. 

#### SAM

Water your dog, walk your pot plant, that kind of thing? 

#### CELIA

_(amused)_ ...Something like that. 

#### SAM

Well, hey, no worries, I totally understand. _(a little down)_ You let me know if you maybe manage to get some time, and...

#### CELIA

Saturday, 6? Under the clock at Leicester Square? That work? We'll go for dinner. -- Well, breakfast -- you know what I mean. 

#### SAM

_(surprised)_ Oh, er, yeah. Yeah, th-that works! 

#### CELIA

Cool. 

#### SAM

Cool!

##### [CELIA starts to head out]

#### CELIA

See you later. 

#### SAM

_(pumped)_ Yeah! See you!

##### [CELIA exits as ALICE enters, almost bumping into her.]

#### CELIA

_(To Alice)_ Oh, sorry Alice, didn't see you there. 

##### [Footsteps as Alice sidles over to the counter]

##### [Pause]

#### SAM

What. 

#### ALICE

What? 

#### SAM

Just get it over with. 

#### ALICE

_(innocently)_ I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. 

#### SAM

Mmhmm, fine.

##### [Beat.] 

#### ALICE

I *was* just wondering though...

#### SAM

_(under his breath)_ Okay --

#### ALICE

_(mocking)_ That is to say, oh, um, ever so sorry to be a bother but -- but what if you and I, uh, were to perhaps, if it's not too much trouble, m-maybe, go to purchase a cup of liquid--!

#### SAM

You know it's rude to eavesdrop? 

#### ALICE

_(normal again)_ 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. 

#### SAM

Look, it worked, didn't it? 

#### ALICE

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.

##### [Sam snickers]

#### ALICE

Hard to tell. 

#### SAM

_(amused, joking:)_ You're just jealous. 

#### ALICE

_(a little too fast)_ Oh, *yeah.* Can't believe I'm missing out on all of "this." Devastating.

##### [Beat. They both clock it's a touch awkward.] 

#### SAM

_(exhales)_ Listen, Alice --

#### ALICE

Hmmm? 

#### SAM

Thanks. 

#### ALICE

For what? 

#### SAM

For coming with me to the institute, even though you knew it was going to be a waste of time. 

#### ALICE

And money. 

#### SAM

...And money, yeah. 

#### ALICE

_(sighing)_ Well, don't worry about it. It wasn't that bad. 

#### SAM

...Really? 

#### ALICE

_(immediate)_ No, it was awful. I'm just lying to you because I'm considerate like that. 

#### SAM

_(smirking)_ Well, either way, I've been thinking on it since we came back and I reckon you were right. I think I'm done with Magnus stuff. 

#### ALICE

_(dubious)_ Oh yeah? 

#### SAM

...Yeah, why? 

#### ALICE

So you're telling me that if I had a case full of emails with the title "Magnus Institute re: Samama Khalid -- Massive Conspiracy," you wouldn't be tempted? 

#### SAM

...Nope. 

#### ALICE

Cool.

#### SAM

...

You don't, though. Do you? That was just, like, a joke. Right?

##### [Alice sighs.] 

#### ALICE

Come on, for now let's just focus on getting you as jaded and apathetic as possible. 

#### SAM

I'm sure Celia will love that. 

#### ALICE

Yeah, well, we don't always get what we want, do we?

------

#### NORRIS

Claim Review: EL-56920

Policy Holder: Soho Jack's Ltd.

Policy Number: 548651-656

Policy Type: Employers' Liability

Site Address: Soho Jack's, 9 Carlisle St, London W1D 3BK

Affected Employee: Ms. Jordan Bennett

Date of Incident: 9 March 2024

Incident Location: On site.

Documentation:  
Crime Report -- Submitted  
Medical Practitioner's Report -- Submitted  
Incident Book Entry -- Submitted  
First Aider's Report -- Submitted  
Supervisor's 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 apologize 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 Jack's replied. Got an interview straight away, bossed the demo, and somehow found myself tending at *the* Soho Gentleman's club.

Jack's has dances on the bottom two floors with VIP suites for hire 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 dickheads 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 heavyset, 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 kid's lunch box. 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 had seen online, he had always looked pretty messed up? But... hey, it was their night. If they wanted to spend it on some cringy 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's 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 tubas 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!"

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, "It's ya lapdance, 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 at them, they didn't know any better, but at Joey the doorman. Derek had already ripped him a new one after he ducked out for a smoke and left me alone with 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 center, 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 *godawful* 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 their 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 gristly snap of bone, tendon and muscle.

##### [Faint violin music comes in]

I remember -- they were still laughing as the groom began to scream, blood flooding out of his shoulders in 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, 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 pulverizing 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 recognizable 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 everybody went silent. Slowly, awfully slowly, it raised its head, tilting it coquettishly to one side. Then the seams across its face split, revealing its gaping maw filled with even larger, sharper teeth. And it boomed playfully: _(slightly deeper voice)_ "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 into its mouth, smiles and __bites.__

None of us was left whole, but I was the luckiest. All I lost was a hand. It 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 tend 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.

------

<!-- 4. O.I.A.R. OFFICE INT.- NIGHT, CLEAR(COMPUTER) GWEN is sat at her desk, stunned by what she has just heard. ALICE enters  -->

##### [The O.I.A.R. computer beeps]

#### GWEN

_(softly, horrified)_ Jesus Christ... 

##### [Footsteps entering:]

#### ALICE

I go by Alice now, actually.

...

Gwen? Helloooo?

#### GWEN

_(dazed)_ What? 

#### ALICE

Okay, enough is enough. How am I meant to wind you up if you're already at the end of your rope? 

#### GWEN

...

Don't. 

#### ALICE

_(genuinely thrown)_ ...Wow. A-are you, like, actually okay? 

#### GWEN

...Yeah. _(an inhale; sounding more composed:)_ Yeah, I just... _(sighs)_ I had to meet one of these Externals... 

#### ALICE

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 ya.

##### [Gwen lets out a small, bitter laugh.]

#### GWEN

What do you think we're actually doing, here at the O.I.A.R.? 

#### ALICE

Apart from mortgaging our mental health for a wage packet? 

#### GWEN

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. 

#### ALICE

What are you getting at? 

#### GWEN

You never wonder what the point is? Who benefits from all this awfulness? 

#### ALICE

I don't wonder. I *know.* 

#### GWEN

What? _(sitting up)_ Really? 

#### ALICE

Oh yeah. _(portentous)_ 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...

##### [Gwen's on the edge of her seat.]

#### ALICE

_(almost a whisper)_ ...the UK government.

##### [GWEN sighs, sitting back] 

#### GWEN

Thanks, Alice. Utterly useless as always. 

#### ALICE

_(cheerfully)_ Anytime!

##### [The computer shuts off.]

------

##### [Music]

#### ANNOUNCER

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 Newall, and directed by Alexander J Newall.

This episode was written by Alexander J Newall and edited with additional materials by Jonathan Sims, with vocal edits by Lowri Ann Davies, soundscaping by Tessa Vroom, and mastering by Catherine Rinella, with music by Sam Jones.

It featured Billie Hindle as Alice Dyer, Shahan Hamza as Samama Khalid, Anusia Battersby as Gwen Bouchard, Lowri Ann Davies as Celia Ripley, with additional voices from Alexander J Newall.

The Magnus Protocol is produced by April Sumner, with executive producers Alexander J Newall, Dani McDonough, Linn Ci, and Samantha F.G. Hamilton, and Associate Producers Jordan L. Hawk, Taylor Michaels, Nicole Perlman, Cetius d'Raven, and Megan Nice.

To subscribe, view associated materials, or join our Patreon, visit rustyquill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us @therustyquill, visit us on Facebook, or email us at mail@rustyquill.com.

Thanks for listening.