Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institute, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all. 

Episode 1: Pilot

[A mundane looking office. A man with greying hair sits at the desk in the office staring passively at the camera. His nameplate reads "ARCHIVIST". A graphic briefly pops up in the corner of the screen, reading "Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist".]

JONATHAN: I really don't see the point of this. We're already quite busy in the archives without these half-baked ideas about do—

[Scene cuts. Jonathan is talking indistinctly on the phone with someone. He looks frustrated.]

JONATHAN: No— yes, I— No, I understand. Yes, Mr. Bouch— Elias. No, of course. 

[Scene cuts.]

JONATHAN: (reluctantly) My name is Jonathan Sims. I am the current Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, London. 

[The scene cuts to various pan over shots of the archives, which appear to be a mess. Jonathan's voiceover continues over the footage.]

JONATHAN: I took this position after my predecessor, Gertrude Robinson, tragically disappeared. She seems to have left the archives in a... state. 

[Brief pause in Jonathan's monologue. Scene cuts to a woman in glasses looking increasingly horrified as she watches a blond man pull a decrepit looking paper from a stack of brand new paperwork. The camera zooms on the woman's gradually raising eyebrows. Scene cuts, returning to Jonathan at his desk.]

JONATHAN: At the Institute, we take the statements of people who claim to have encountered the supernatural. In the archives, we take what research finds dead ends with and store it for access by students, scholars and the like. 

[He gives the camera a hard look. His glasses are smudged.]

JONATHAN: We are not “paranormal investigators”. We are academics. (He stresses the words by making quotation marks with his fingers.)

JONATHAN: I’ve been appointed three assistants. Sasha James, Timothy Stoker, and… (with considerable annoyance) Martin Blackwood. They’ve been assisting me with the mess in the archives.

JONATHAN: …To a variable amount of success. Admittedly, Mr. Blackwood has already shown himself to be immensely incom—

[There's a commotion outside of Jonathan's office. The camera whips around to face the rapidly opening door. A disheveled man stands in the doorway. He's fat, with curly black hair and large square glasses.]

MARTIN: (panting) Hey, have you seen a dog?

[screen zooms out to fit both Martin and Jonathan. The latter is staring at Martin with mild incredulity.]

JONATHAN: In. In general, or—

MARTIN: No, no! In, uh. In the archives?

[Jonathan stands up. He looks alarmed.]

JONATHAN: (irritable) What? Martin, did you let a dog into the archives?

MARTIN: (actively sweating) What? Of course not! I was— was just making friendly small talk. About dogs. 

JONATHAN: [extended sounds of exasperated silence]

JONATHAN: ... I see. 

[brief cutaway to the man in a confessional. He sits in the break room looking at the camera anxiously. A brief graphic pops in the bottom left corner reading "Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant".]

MARTIN: Well, I worked in the library for a few years before I started in the archives. I studied, uh, parapsychology in uni, so— you know. Kind of written in the stars.

[Scene cuts back to Martin and Jonathan. There’s a loud clatter in the background that startles Martin.]

MARTIN: (to someone offscreen) No, Duchess! You can't eat that! 

[Martin looks back at Jonathan. He seems somewhat apologetic as he scrambles out of the door. Jonathan, clearly alarmed, follows suit, and the camera abruptly cuts off as they barrel past.]

Episode 1, Scene 2.

[Scene opens on Jonathan at his desk. He’s humming quietly as he pores over budget documents. There’s a lunch box on his desk. This is unusual, since he’s usually too much of a workaholic to make time and pack himself a lunch.]

JONATHAN: (muttering) Ah, misplaced the two here. Let me…Perfect. 

[He sets down his pen with some degree of satisfaction and exchanges the papers for his lunch]

JONATHAN: Now then. 

[The camera zooms on Jonathan as he opens the box. Immediately upon removing the lid, a veritable ton of glitter explodes from the box. Jonathan’s expression is pinched into abject disdain, although this is made far less intimidating by the fact that he’s completely covered in glitter. Bright holographic pink glitter. 

Jonathan sits in long, stunned silence for roughly a minute before he stands up and slams his hands on his now glittery desk.]

JONATHAN: Tim!

[Scene cuts to a man with short blond hair and a bright blue and yellow button-up in a confessional. He’s grinning at the camera as he sits in the break room. A brief graphic pops up reading “Timothy Stoker, Archival Assistant”]

TIMOTHY: (to somebody offscreen) No, yeah, Tim is fine. 

TIM: Let’s see, I’m the one and only Tim Stoker. I’ve been to school for anthropology, I’m a huge Robert Smirke reader, and I like long, romantic, nude walks on the beach. 

TIM: (with a conspiratorial tone) And even better, I used to work in research with Jon. If you can imagine that guy as anything except middle management. 

[Tim starts rifling around in his pockets, trying to pull out his wallet. He seems largely unsuccessful.]

TIM: I have this picture of him when he had a buzzcut, if I could find my wallet? 

[Jonathan slams the door to the break room open quite suddenly. The camera pans over to him fuming. He’s covered in pink glitter and looking at Tim with ire. Camera pans back to Tim, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh.]

TIM: That’s… quite the fashion statement, boss. Your magical girl transformation not go as planned? 

JONATHAN: I know this was you, Tim. Of— of all of the inane, ridiculous pranks you could pull—

TIM: Me? Why are you just assuming I did it?! I don’t even own pink glitter!

JONATHAN: Oh, because it’s so impossible to believe you could’ve just bought some. 

TIM: (simultaneously) You just make these wild accusations all day long! 

[The camera zooms out slowly as their arguing rises to a fever pitch of shouting. A woman in round glasses can be seen standing near the doorway for the break room. She’s smiling rather smugly.

Scene cuts away to the woman sitting at her desk. She rests her chin in her hand. Her conspicuously glittery hand. A graphic pops up on the screen reading “Sasha James, Archival Assistant. She sighs, holding up an old wallet in her other hand.]

SASHA: I can’t believe Tim would prank Jon like that. It’s like some people have no professional decorum. 

[Sasha’s voiceover continues over footage of Jonathan and Tim arguing.]

SASHA’S VOICE: Before I got transferred here, I kind of bounced around the institute. I didn’t last long in artifact storage, though. It’s… not a pleasant story. Still. 

SASHA’S VOICE: They moved me to the library staff for about a week after artifact storage, but I’m not really into library sciences. Tried IT, but I don’t think I have the stomach for it, you know? Eventually I ended up in research with Dumb and Dumber, who took me with them to the archives. 

[Camera cuts back to Sasha. She’s smiling, though the sincerity of it is dampened by the pilfered wallet in her hand.]

SASHA: I think it’s important to keep things interesting in the department. Builds morale, you know? Plus, Tim stole my lunch yesterday and had the gall to try and convince me it was Jon. Some people need to be humbled. 

[There’s a shout in the break room, followed immediately by the loud crack of a table breaking. Sasha winces.]

SASHA: Oh, shit. 

[Scene cuts. It opens in The Institute Head’s office, a pristine and well-kept space. A thin-faced older man with short brown hair and glasses is sitting on one side of the desk. Jonathan and Tim sit on the other side. They look humiliated.]

ELIAS: —and it escapes me how either of you could ever find this behavior to be acceptable in this institute! 

JONATHAN: (shamefully) Our behavior was shameful, Mr. Bouchard. I can’t apologize enough. 

ELIAS: I doubt that shameful covers it. Staff in the library apparently mentioned that they could hear you shouting from across the building. Not only were you two disrupting your own department, but the entire building to boot. Christ’s sake, how old are you two?

[Tim and Jonathan are coincidentally trying to look anywhere except at Elias.]

ELIAS: Do you have any idea how incredulous I felt hearing reports that you two were having glorified wrestling matches in the archives of all things?

[Tim looks up suddenly. He looks appalled.]

TIM: Reports? What kind of snitch—

[Jonathan elbows him. Tim glares at him, but shuts up.]

JONATHAN: You’re right, Mr.— uh. Elias. We were out of line. It won’t happen again. 

ELIAS: (pinching the bridge of his nose) I would hope not. The Magnus Institute is a place of academic progression and learning. It would do you well to reflect that in your behavior. I know this position has proven to be a very heavy undertaking, Jon. I do understand you may be having some… slight stressors contributing to your daily life these days. Still, it would be appreciated if you refrained from allowing that stress to impact you to this extent in the future. 

JONATHAN: (visibly uncomfortable) Uh. Yes— yes, of course. Thank you, Elias. 

ELIAS: Right then. I suppose you both may go. I expect that you dedicate yourselves that much more to your work to make up for the time lost to this… incident. 

[Tim and Jonathan awkwardly shuffle out of the door to Elias’s office. Camera cuts to Elias alone, and a graphic pops up reading “Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute.”

ELIAS: How long have I been working at the institute? Well, I’d first started around the nineties in artifact storage. I was head of the department for about a year before I took this job, and I’ve been running the institute since. 

[Elias gives a satisfied smile, making the slight wrinkles on his face crinkle with the motion.]

ELIAS: It’s very busy work, but I must say I’ve found this job quite rewarding. Words can’t describe how thrilling it is to contribute so largely to this little niche of academia.  

[Jonathan and Tim are heard shouting again, and there is the distinct sound of someone falling down a flight of stairs. Elias is still smiling, albeit in a now strained manner.]

ELIAS: Truly a gift. 

Episode 1, Scene 3.

[Scene opens on Jonathan sitting at his desk with a paper statement. One of his arms is in a sling. He’s regarding the statement with a certain degree of frustration as he stops the recording on his laptop.]

JONATHAN: (tiredly) Well, I suppose third time's the charm, isn’t it? Let's have a look. 

[Jonathan presses play on the recording.]

JONATHAN’S VOICE: Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an — Close — inborough—

[The rest of the audio recording very quickly devolves into heavy static and warbled noise. Jonathan seems unhappy, but not surprised.]

JONATHAN: …Ah. I can’t say that’s… ideal. (voice raised) Sasha! 

[Sasha enters Jonathan’s office. Her hands are still covered in pink glitter. Jonathan somehow still fails to notice this.]

JONATHAN: I have reason to believe the low signal in the archives is making some of the longer statements too much of a strain for my laptop to handle. 

SASHA: I… see? Did you want me to let the other two know about it?

JONATHAN: No— well, uh. Yes, it would be appreciated if you let them know. But that isn’t actually why I called you in here. 

SASHA: (teasingly) Do I smell a dramatic confession from the Jonathan Sims? Fell for me already, did you?

JONATHAN: Sasha! If you would let me explain. I was going to ask if you could try to find some of the tape recorders Gertrude had left from her time as Head Archivist. 

[Sasha laughs, a full body, cheerful laugh. Jonathan’s expression does not change. She sobers a bit, looking baffled.]

SASHA: You’re surely not serious, are you? I mean, that feels a little—

JONATHAN: Dated, yes. However, if my laptop is proving difficult, I can’t say I see many other options. The archives don’t exactly have the budget for new audio equipment right now. 

SASHA: Sounds like we don’t have the budget to make it through Y2K either, I guess. Should I be looking for a telegraph machine in case the tape recorders don’t turn up?

[Jonathan stares at Sasha with an expression lacking all amusement. She at least has the wherewithal to look sheepish at his reaction. Both of them stand near each other in abject, horribly awkward silence. One of them has to cave first, and it won’t be Jonathan.] 

SASHA: (defeated) Right. I’m going to, um. Go find those tape recorders now. 

[Scene cuts to Sasha, Tim, and Martin in the storage closet of the archives. They’re digging through old supplies and gossiping.]

SASHA: —and I thought he was joking, but he just keeps staring at me with the exact same expression!

TIM: (incredulous) There has got to be better solutions than tape recorders, right? I mean, how does that make anything more convenient for organizing?

SASHA: Exactly!

MARTIN: I don’t know, I like tape recorders? They’ve kind of got a… lofi charm. 

[The closet goes completely silent. Tim and Sasha are staring at Martin with a mix of bewilderment and bemusement. The two BEs. Martin very rapidly starts to regret speaking, and pointedly turns to keep looking for the recorders.]

SASHA: (trying not to laugh) No, Martin! I was just surprised because it’s— it’s quirky!

TIM: And a little bit hilar— (strangled shout) Shit! Don’t kick me, Sash!

SASHA: I’m not sure what you mean. Violence in the workplace is very strictly prohibited, Timothy. 

TIM: Has anybody ever told you that you can be a real arsehole?

MARTIN: (offhandedly) You are what you eat. Oh, look! I found a tape recorder!

[Tim and Sasha audibly sputter at Martin’s comment, which he apparently seems content to pretend he never said. Martin cheerfully pulls a dusty tape recorder from a storage box, presenting it like a game show prize.]

SASHA: I’m sorry, can we address that first comment, please?

MARTIN: (pondering for a moment, but then a little assertive) …No. I don’t think we will. 

[The closet goes completely and awkwardly silent again. Eventually, Tim breaks it by slapping a hand on both Sasha and Martin’s shoulders.]

TIM: Well, let’s get this artifact over to bossman before he keels over from old age, right?

[Audio is fading, and the camera starts to pan away as they exit the storage closet.]

SASHA: Oh, come off it. You can’t tell me you actually believe he’s older than us. 

TIM: He is in spirit, Sash. Have you seen that man? I think I saw him do the grunt that dads do when they stand up once. 

SASHA: Oh, did he also do that grunt dads do when they get their arm broken falling down a flight of stairs?

[Tim is markedly silent, but Martin is heard slightly snickering.]

TIM: …A little bit.

[Scene cuts. Reopen on Jonathan’s office. He’s doing some percussive maintenance on his laptop, which seems unhappy about being violently shaken and smacked. Sasha, Tim, and Martin enter and unceremoniously drop the recorder on his desk.]

JONATHAN: Ah, thank you. Much appreciated. 

TIM: It better be. We went through Narnia to get the damned thing. 

SASHA: (nodding) It’s true. Tim died on the journey, and we had to revive him using forbidden necromancy. 

MARTIN: It was tragic. 

JONATHAN: (not sorry at all) Well. I am very sorry that you experienced such a devastating event at my behest, Timothy. 

TIM: (indignant) Hm. I don’t forgive you. Ask me again in two to five business days. Two if you buy me coffee tomorrow morning, five if you don’t. 

JONATHAN: I’ll check back in next week, then. Thank you again. Now, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you went and, er, took a brief respite after your surely taxing venture to Narnia. Some of us in the real world have statements to record. 

SASHA: Yeah, yeah. The three musketeers will get out of your ratty hair. Tim, Martin, you guys wanna go play tic-tac-toe on discarded statements?

[Before Jonathan has a chance to very loudly protest this, Sasha and Tim are already ushering an unsure Martin out the door. The office door shuts, leaving Jonathan alone in his office.]

JONATHAN: (muttering) Am I working in a madhouse or something? Good lord. 

[Jonathan checks the tape in the recorder, sighing slightly before he turns it on. He clears his throat.]

JONATHAN: Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Original statement given April 22nd, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

ARCHIVIST: Statement begins. 

Chapter Text

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institute, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all. 

Episode 2: Dedicated Research

[Scene opens on the bullpen of the archives, which is primarily empty save for Sasha. She appears to be quietly typing out a report when the door to Jonathan’s office opens. Jonathan steps out holding a stack of papers and looking mildly annoyed. At least, more so than his usual.]

JONATHAN: Sasha, have you finished updating your emergency information forms? Elias has been very insistent we get them into admin as soon as possible.

SASHA: Hm? Oh, yeah. I should have them in by tomorrow morning. Just need to wait for my mum to get back to me about her new address and the like. Gotta call her when I get home. 

JONATHAN: Thank you. Now, have you seen Martin and Tim? I need to check the status on their forms as well. 

SASHA: I think Martin is looking into the Hodge statement, last I checked? He was checking out the delivery company or something. 

JONATHAN: (unimpressed) It would have been appreciated if he had briefed me on that before he left. What about Tim? I also need to ask him for clarification on the follow-up for Case Number 0132806 from yesterday. 

SASHA: Oh, he’s… huh. I’m actually not sure? 

JONATHAN: (checking his watch, which has started beeping loudly) Ah, I’m supposed to have a meeting with Elias in a few minutes. Could you call Tim and ask him to come to my office when he gets back? It sounds like we need to have a conversation on proper procedure when he leaves the building. 

[Jonathan starts to walk out into the hallway leading to the stairs, but Sasha stops him.]

SASHA: Wait, uh. My phone kind of died when I was at lunch. Forgot to charge it last night. 

JONATHAN: (entirely exasperated) Forgot to— alright. This is… important, so I am letting you this one time use my own cell to call him. I expect to see it on my desk as soon as you are done. 

[He gingerly passes over his phone before giving Sasha a stern look.]

SASHA: Yeah, yeah, I won’t play tennis with your phone, Jon. (She laughs. A beat. She looks baffled.) Wait, do you not have a passcode for your phone? 

JONATHAN: It… didn’t seem necessary. Listen, I really must be going, so you’ll have to mock my choices out of earshot. 

SASHA: Wait. I can’t find Tim in your contacts? What did you list him as? Damn, some of these are pretty funny, though. Is “general nuisance” supposed to be Martin?

[Jonathan pretends he didn’t hear her and continues to leave. Sasha is seen scrolling further down his contacts and her eyes widen drastically.]

SASHA: Who on earth is office slut?

[He is already long gone in a flurry of flustered rushing. Camera zooms on Sasha, who is peering down at the phone through her glasses. She stops and turns to look at the camera in bewilderment.]

SASHA: I have to call this number. Oh my God? What if it’s the last job he worked? Or an ex?  

[Sasha pauses, considering the possibility that Jonathan Sims has been in a relationship, much less a relationship that ended badly enough for him to label the ex as a slut. She dismisses the idea altogether immediately.]

SASHA: Maybe not an ex. Although, I am seeing a more likely option?

[Sasha pauses. The stairs creak with the noise of someone coming down them, and Martin appears in the doorway of the bullpen soon after.]

MARTIN: Oh, hello, Sasha! What are you uh— (Martin pauses, glancing between the camera and the phone.) —up to?

SASHA: Jon gave me his phone to call Tim, and I found the most insane name in his phone. Literally try to guess. 

MARTIN: (He is genuinely contemplating) I think he’d unironically have his mum saved under Birthgiver? 

SASHA: (making an incorrect buzzer sound) Nope. Jon’s an orphan. The answer the judges were looking for was office slut. 

MARTIN: He’s a— oh, Jesus. Now I feel kind of— Wait. What did you say the answer was. 

SASHA: Listen, Martin. We have maybe 20 minutes before Jon comes back from that meeting, maximum. I don’t have time to explain this to you six times. I’m just going to… call office slut and solve this mystery. 

[Martin is visibly wary, but Sasha pats his shoulder and smiles warmly.]

SASHA: It’s just harmless snooping, Martin! 

MARTIN: What if it’s one of us, though? I mean, maybe he just has a weird method of doing contact names! This feels like an invasion of privacy!

SASHA: Oh, please. I would literally bet you 20 quid Tim picks up the phone. 

[Despite the former’s clear misgivings, Sasha very assuredly taps the call button on the contact.]

TIM’S VOICE: Timothy’s Hot Bitch Hotline. Looking for a piece of the Tim-o-Tron, Bossman?

[Sasha and Martin stare at each other in abject shock, as if this wasn’t the expected outcome.]

SASHA: I’m sorry, is that just. The way you always answer Jon’s calls?  

[Tim goes dead silent on the other end. It seems like he’s only just realized it is possible that someone could ever borrow Jonathan’s phone. He’s completely quiet for about thirty seconds.]

TIM: (mildly humiliated) No.

TIM: Sometimes I hit on him more. 

SASHA: God, nevermind. Where are you right now? Jon wanted you to come to his office. 

TIM: Uh. One sec, let me put you on speaker. 

[The distinct sound of water is heard from Tim’s end.]

TIM: Takin’ a piss. 

[A toilet flushes, confirming that Tim was not, in fact, joking. Camera zooms on Martin and Sasha. They share expressions of exasperation.]

MARTIN: … I see?

TIM: Damn, Marto, did you want photo proof? Take me to dinner first, mate? (Martin is visibly surprised. He blinks a few times.) Anyways, I’ll be back downstairs in a minute. Gotta wash my hands and all. Good hygiene and all. 

SASHA: You are aware we have not one, but two toilets in the archives, right?

TIM: Do not call them toilets. Those are a disgrace to— shit. Ok, Becky is giving me a weird look right now. Give me like 30 seconds. 

[Jonathan’s phone beeps as Tim hangs up abruptly. Martin and Sasha share a noncommittal shrug, and they return to whatever busywork they were doing prior to this series of events. Camera pans out to view the entire bullpen of the archives. There’s an extended, almost remarkable silence for a few minutes save for typing and sips of tea or coffee.]

MARTIN: Hey, Sasha? Are you using APA for your reports?

SASHA: Oh, mostly, yeah. I don’t think it’s exact, but Jon seems to like my reports well enough. Not sure what the industry standard is, but when I was in research David didn’t even ask us to use full sentences, so… the bar is pretty low.  

MARTIN: …I see. 

[Enter Tim. He’s wearing a Barbie pink button-up today, but it’s clearly not his size. The too-short sleeves just about cut off the circulation of his forearms, and his undershirt is visible because it doesn’t button all the way.]

TIM: Ayup. Ok, listen—

SASHA: Tim, if this about the archives toilets again, I really don’t want to hear it. 

TIM: They’re spooky! The vibes are completely off. If you piss in the actual archives toilets instead of going upstairs, you’re a frightening specimen. 

SASHA: You’re paranoid.

TIM: You’re going to be the first one offed in a horror film. 

MARTIN: (hesitant) I actually think Sasha would last pretty long in horror? I mean, she survived a week in IT. 

TIM: Now I’m intrigued. Marto, would you care to indulge me with your horror survival tier list? I was thinking that bossman gets murked after he tries back-talking the murderer. 

[Camera slowly zooms on Martin. His expression is bashful, but then thoughtful.]

MARTIN: Get me a paper and pen?

[Tim dashes offscreen with a grin, presumably to his own desk across the room. There’s a distinct sound of clattering as he desperately searches for a blank sheet of paper. Sasha gives the camera a vaguely bemused look.]

TIM: (panting) Here. Fire away, Marto. 

MARTIN: Okay, um. (Beginning to write numbers for a list. He stops at 4.) Who all am I including?

TIM: Put David from research there. Spot number one. 

SASHA: Oh my God. 

MARTIN: I don’t think I’ve ever even met—

TIM: Sash, you can’t be telling me David wouldn’t finesse a slasher villain. Look at me in these gorgeous blue orbs and tell me that.

SASHA: Please don’t call your eyes that. Also, your eyes are grey?

MARTIN: Wait, are you talking about the research department head? The one who got sent home by HR yesterday for coming in shirtless? Hm.

[Martin is leaning over his paper contemplatively. He blocks the actual contents from the view of Tim, Sasha, and the camera. There’s a very long and tense five minute silence in the archives.]

MARTIN: Okay… I think I’ve got it. In order of deaths, I think Tim would actually be first. 

TIM: You what. 

MARTIN: I’m not saying it’s because you're not intelligent, okay? I just— uh. Think you might not take it seriously at first. If you survived right at the start I think you would be fine the rest of the way! It’s just the start, you know?

TIM: … I can accept that. 

MARTIN: And then, uh. Jon. I think maybe he could last a bit longer. He’s surprisingly quick. Although, he, uh— I think he’s a pretty good strategist, so I think he might be able to avoid a direct confrontation and escape if he really put his mind to it. 

TIM: (He raises an eyebrow, obviously amused) You don’t think he could take a slasher villain in a fight? Maybe he’s a secret martial arts master.

[Martin cannot stop himself from snorting a little. He fidgets with his hands.]

MARTIN: I mean, I don’t mean it as any offense, but, uh… no chance on earth that’s true? 

[Camera pans to the softly opening door to the archives bullpen, where Jonathan is seen walking in. Martin does not turn to face him.]

SASHA: (increasingly interested) Oh? Why do you say that? 

MARTIN: It’s just— most slasher villains are pretty muscular and all. Jon’s not really a muscular guy, you know? He’s just… a bit…

[Martin is pausing to collect his words. By now, Jon is standing directly behind Martin’s desk with a distinctly unamused expression. Sasha and Tim look at the camera with something like morbid curiosity and dread.]

MARTIN: He’s kind of scrawny, I guess? I feel like a direct confrontation would end very badly for him. Probably with a chainsaw in his head. 

JONATHAN: (blandly) I’m very glad to hear that you have such strong faith in me, Martin.

MARTIN: O-Oh! Hello, Jon! I was— that was— a different Jon! From… accounting! 

JONATHAN: …We don’t have anyone on the accounting staff named Jon. 

SASHA: You might not know him by that name. He uh. Just transitioned. New names take a while to process in the systems, y’know?

[Camera zooms on Sasha and Martin. They’re sharing a very meaningful look of solidarity. Whether that’s solidarity between liars or between queers is unclear.]

JONATHAN: I highly doubt—

TIM: Woah. Bossman, are you about to say that there’s no way anybody in accounting could be trans? That’s fucked, mate. 

JONATHAN: You of all people know perfectly well that’s not what I was—

SASHA: Jon! That’s messed up! You really need to reevaluate your biases…

[Camera zoom on Jon’s expression, which is caught somewhere between exasperation and blatant panic. He also pauses and stares incredulously at Tim’s immensely unprofessional shirt. Camera zooms back out to show the entire group.]

JONATHAN: This topic is clearly getting out of hand, and it would be within everyone’s best interests if we moved on. 

SASHA: I agree completely, Jon. This is a place of business, not politics. 

JONATHAN: (He turns to face Martin) Martin. I would strongly advise that the next time you leave the building for research, you follow proper procedure. I would also like you to see to it that your updated emergency contact forms are on my desk by Monday, at the latest. 

MARTIN: Uhm. Yes! Oh— of course!

JONATHAN: (Turning to Tim) Ah, yes. Tim. My office, please. 

[Tim shoots up out of his seat with a slightly mocking bow. He trails behind Jonathan into his office. Camera follows. Jonathan stops in the doorway.]

JONATHAN: And Martin? If you had put as much effort into your research as you did with… horror movie rankings, perhaps your work wouldn’t be as lacking. 

[Camera quickly pans back over to Martin. His mouth is agape. The door to Jonathan’s office is heard closing offscreen.]

SASHA: Good lord, somebody’s in a bad mood. 

MARTIN: (distantly) He is so going to fire me. 

SASHA: He’s not going to fire you. I uh.. don’t think we exactly have a replacement on standby willing to take over, anyways. I told Lisa over in the library that I was transferring and she started praying. 

MARTIN: Huh. Didn’t think she was religious?

SASHA: She’s not. 

[Camera focuses on Martin and Sasha sitting in mildly awkward silence. They are startled by a thud in Jonathan’s office.]

MARTIN: What is going on in there? 

SASHA: (she leans towards Martin, conspiratorial. Camera zooms slightly to match.) You think they might be snogging? 

MARTIN: Sasha! (Martin looks incredulously at Sasha, then the door. Martin leans in as well, huddled with Sasha.) What if they are, though? 

SASHA: I mean… be who you are? I kind of thought they both might’ve been able to do better, to be honest. 

MARTIN: Ouch. 

[Jonathan’s office door opens. Camera pans over to Tim walking out. His shirt is askew and his hair is a mess]

JONATHAN’S VOICE: (from inside) Please keep what we discussed in mind, Tim. 

TIM: (slightly red) Uh. Yeah, boss! Sounds like a great idea. 

[Door to Jonathan’s office shuts. Sasha spins in her chair, very poorly feigning nonchalance.] 

SASHA: So… what was that about?

TIM: (bluntly) Snogging, big time. We made out sloppy style. 

[Sasha and Martin share a simultaneous look of disappointment.]

SASHA: You are such a liar. 

[Scene cuts to Tim in confessional. He looks embarrassed.]

TIM: Okay, so… he was nagging me about dress again. Apparently I can’t wear shirts that can’t properly button more than one button or something. 

[Tim’s voiceover continues over shaky footage of their meeting. It’s clearly filmed through closed blinds. Tim is leaned back in the office chair, saying something inaudible]

TIM’S VOICE: I told him that dress code is a method of societal conformity that aims to reduce human expression to a blank none, and he told me I was talking out of my ass. I even unbuttoned the rest of my shirt out of spite. Stick it to the man. 

[The Tim in the footage leans further back in the chair, and it tips over, resulting in a loud thud.]

TIM: I guess I got too impassioned about it and, you know, tipped over a bit. Hurt like hell, honestly. I think Jon tried to help, but he’s still down an arm after he fell down the stairs mysteriously last month. We kept arguing afterward, and eventually Jon told me he “understands my plight, but HR is going to end up involved if other departments see the archives conducting themselves as anything less than professional”. Basically, I either stop serving or they’re going to serve me a disciplinary. 

[Camera cuts back to Tim. A small trail of blood is starting to run down his forehead.]

TIM: To be fair to Jon, though? I was actually talking out of my ass. I just happen to be good at it. 

[A beat. He blinks, and lifts a finger to the trail of blood. He inspects it, and then licks it. As if he wasn’t sure before what it was.]

TIM: Oh, yeah. I also hit my head on Jon’s desk a little. 

EPISODE 2, SCENE 2

[Scene opens on archives staff working in relative silence, save for the showtunes blasting from Sasha’s cheap headphones, which very clearly have an issue with noise leaking. Martin is absent from the room. Jonathan leaves his office holding paperwork.]

JONATHAN: Sasha, were you able to get the hospital records for the Saraki statement?

SASHA: (She lifts one ear from her headphones) Hm?

JONATHAN: Saraki Statement. Updates. 

SASHA: Oh, that’s what I’m working on now. I’ll probably have them by Wednesday. It’s a lot of hoops to jump through, you know? 

[Loud tumbling footsteps come from the hallway leading into the archives, effectively startling the other staff. Enter Martin. He’s visibly disheveled from running downstairs.]

MARTIN: There’s— there’s a statement-giver here! 

TIM: Ohhhkay? Did you give them the paper before you ran over here in panic, Marto?

MARTIN: (panting, out of breath.) No, you don’t— she wants to come make a live statement! 

[The room goes dead silent.]

TIM: Oh, gross. 

JONATHAN: God damn it. Why can’t she just make a paper statement like a normal individual? 

SASHA: Maybe she’s illiterate, Jonathan. What did we say about re-ev— wait. Tim, why are you upset about this? You’re the most extroverted person I know. 

TIM: I actually took an online quiz, and it said I’m 64% ambivert. So now you’re wrong and a dunce. 

JONATHAN: I find that immensely hard to believe. 

TIM: What, that I’m not an extrovert or that Sasha’s wron—

MARTIN: Can we please stay on topic here, guys? Statement giver? Live? Panic?

[Jonathan sighs very deliberately.]

JONATHAN: Kindly compose yourself, Martin. As… averse as I am to the concept, it still falls under the archives’ realm of responsibility to take new statements. I will handle it. 

SASHA: (whisper cheering) Woo, Jon! Conquering the social interaction foes one statement at a time?

MARTIN: Wait, are you, uh, averse to the live statements, or just new ones in general?

JONATHAN: Yes. 

[Cut to Jonathan in confessional. He looks unhappy.]

JONATHAN: I may have a slight dislike of Elias’s god awful means of organization in the institute. However, I do not think it’s to the extent my employees and colleagues like to claim.  

[Montage of Jonathan complaining begins.]

JONATHAN: (over lunch break) —And for some godforsaken reason, the institute divides new statements between the archives and research, even though we have to give new statements to them for investigation first anyways! 

JONATHAN: (ranting at Sasha during a performance review) You would think we’d have the slightest bit of leeway on new statements while we sort this wreck of a department, but apparently Elias is “hands-off” to the point of incompetence! 

JONATHAN: (in the sinks by the toilets to a random civilian) But no, clearly there’s no point to listening to me even though I am apparently the first head archivist in years who is not senile. 

[Montage ends. Scene cuts back to the archives staff.]

MARTIN: Ah. I suppose that, um. Makes sense. 

[Everyone looks up when a door opens in the hallway. Enter Naomi. She rounds the corner into the archives and peeks her head into the bullpen.]

NAOMI: Uh, hello? I’m here to give a, um. A statement. The secretary just told me to come here? 

JONATHAN: (prompt) Ah. I think you have the wrong—

TIM: What Mr. Sims means is that you said the wrong title for our dear Rosie! She’s not a secretary, she’s the Head Executive Assistant. Why don’t you follow Mr. Sims to the statement office and he’ll get you set up? 

NAOMI: Oh, thanks? Uh. And sorry, I guess. Her name plate just said—

JONATHAN: (leading her to the statement office.) Yes, yes, fascinating. Now, we will need you to sign a few brief forms…

[Naomi and Jonathan continue talking until they completely fade out of earshot. Tim, Martin, and Sasha share looks.]

TIM: (cheerfully) Well, she seemed lovely! 

MARTIN: Are… are you being sarcastic? I really can not tell. 

TIM: I mean it! She’s got a uh, you know, awkward kind of charm. 

SASHA: You said that about Kenneth from scuba class right before he ghosted you.

TIM: (affronted) There is no reason to bring Kenneth from scuba class into this. That was a dark time for me. 

MARTIN: Hey, did you see the thing she brought in? The rock?

SASHA: I think it was a stone, actually. So. 

MARTIN: No, seriously. What if it’s a weapon? Should we really be leaving Jon alone in a room with someone who has a heavy blunt object?

TIM: Oh, it’s alright! Jon can handle himself. 

SASHA: Yeah, I don’t think he would just let himself get brutally murdered by a rock.

[Extended sounds of cautious silence. All three employees look at each other with hesitant worry.]

TIM: We should go check—

MARTIN: (interrupting him) Yes, we should. Quickly, preferably. 

[Camera follows the assistants as they move out of the bullpen and through the hallway to the statement room. Zoom on Tim, who starts leaning against the door.]

TIM: Quiet, guys. I need to eavesdrop about the statement.

NAOMI’S VOICE: (quiet, then louder) Oh, for sure. I think if you factor in STP, then it definitely impacts your results. 

JONATHAN’S VOICE: And I think her entire experiment is flawed if you consider the considerably slapdash means of gas collection. A balloon? Really? Is this secondary school? 

NAOMI: That’s what I told her, but our supervisor just praised her innovation!

[Tim’s face visibly contorts into disgust. Sasha and Martin look at him with concern.]

SASHA: (whispering)  What is it? Gore?

TIM: Worse. Science. They’re just going on and on about the scientific method and the lady’s coworker who doesn’t seem to understand molar conversions or something. 

SASHA: Ah. Didn’t you major in science, though?

TIM: That’s so different. Anthropology is cool. Chemistry is not. 

MARTIN: Glass houses, Tim…

TIM: (louder) Oh, do not start on me, Marto. Parapsychology? That makes you a geek and a nerd. Pick a struggle, mate. 

MARTIN: (suddenly remembering his “degree”) Oh. Uh. Well. I mean. At least I don’t read architecture textbooks in my free time! 

SASHA: Guys, quiet down! Jon’s going to—

TIM: (shouting) That is low, Martin. I’ll have you that Robert Smirke was a genius of his time, and his architecture actually has a lot of personal significance… to… me…..

[Tim trails off. The statement office door is opening. Enter Jonathan.]

JONATHAN: If you’re going to eavesdrop, I suggest you do it quietly. 

TIM: What?! Eavesdrop? We would never. I think you’re being paranoid, Jon. 

JONATHAN: So, I must have completely imagined your disparaging complaints about science.

TIM: About chemistry, actually. That is, if we were eavesdropping. 

[Jonathan sighs loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose.]

JONATHAN: Regardless. I need you to get the tape recorder from my office. Ms. Herne’s statement doesn’t seem to record properly on my laptop. Must be an audio issue. 

SASHA: Right away, Captain! 

[Sasha, Martin, and Tim begin walking off towards Jonathan’s office. Audio gradually fading.]

TIM: (in distance) I think he’d be more of a first mate, not a captain. 

MARTIN: (barely audible) Do we really have to argue about this again? 

 [Scene Ends]

Episode 2, Scene 3

[Scene opens on the Archivist in his office, reading a statement to the recorder like an eerie bedtime story.] 

ARCHIVIST: (in a nerdy theater kid cadence) … I don’t expect you to believe me, but if “ghost spiders” falls under anyone’s remit, I suppose it’s yours. 

JONATHAN: Statement ends. Well, if one were to ask my personal opinion, I would say this is horseshit. As Mr. Vittery said, he’s in therapy now for his “ghosts spiders” problem. We didn’t find the statement worth any further investigation, short of confirming Mr. Vittery’s address. 

JONATHAN: Tim offered to interview Mr. Vittery, but he was unfortunately found dead a week after his statement. As I told Martin, however, there is a perfectly logical explanation as to why he was found encased with webs, next to a note written with those same webs reading “GHOST SPIDER WAZ HERE”. He asked me what that explanation was, and I told him to get out of my office. Jonathan out. 

[Jonathan clicks off the recorder, removes the tape, and sets it in a small tape holder labeled “TO BE SORTED” in marker. A knock on Jonathan’s office door. Camera pans over to the door. Enter Martin.]

MARTIN: Uh, Jon? Are you still recording? 

JONATHAN: Hm? No, I’ve just finished. What is it, Martin? 

MARTIN: I, um. I need to take off early.

JONATHAN: Martin, I shouldn’t need to remind you that the institute has a very strict policy on impromptu personal da—

MARTIN: Please? It’s… it’s an emergency. With… my mom. Yeah. 

JONATHAN: (exasperated) Fine. Please make sure that you are at the institute that much earlier tomorrow morning. 

MARTIN: Of course, of course! I’ll. Um. See you then!

[Martin exits. Cut to Martin in confessional.]

MARTIN: Okay, my mom isn’t actually any worse than usual. I just, uh. Something seems off with the Vittery statement, you know? It’s actually crazy that Jonathan thinks it couldn’t possibly be supernatural. 

MARTIN: I’m just going to, uh… take a quick peek. 

Chapter Text

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institutes, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all. 

Season 1, Episode 3: Vacation Days

Episode 3, Scene 1

[Scene opens on the break room, where Tim, Jonathan, and Sasha are eating lunch. Tim and Sasha chat excitedly, while Jonathan looks visibly exhausted. On the bright side, his cast is off.]

SASHA: —and then I told Maria that I appreciated her welcoming me to the department, but I really wasn’t interested in the weekly fight pit. 

TIM: What? Isn’t the fight pit the only fun part about IT? 

SASHA: I know, I know, I just wasn’t in the headspace to go to the department meetings if I lost. Anyways, then Maria tells me “Look, James. If you’re gonna be here, you’re gonna have to pull your weight.” So then, I told her I’d go to HR and she actually backed off. 

TIM: Damn. I can’t believe she didn’t push the issue. Does she know HR doesn’t do shit? 

SASHA: Oh, for sure. It’s more about confidence. They can smell fear, you know? A lot of them go a while without showering, so it stands out really strong against the BO. She was just impressed I was gutsy enough to stand my—

[Sasha is cut off by Jonathan, who had been conspicuously silent, thudding his head face first into his lunch box. The impact splatters the sauce in his sandwich all over his shirt. Cut to Tim in confessional.]

TIM: Jon’s been a bit off ever since he started really doubling down on recording those statements, I think. I can’t prove it, but I think he’s been taking them home? Crazy bedtime story, to be honest. I’m not judging, though. Used to read Farewell to Arms in uni before bed each night. 

[Tim pulls out his phone, which is pulled up to display several photos of Jonathan not-quite-fast asleep in places humans were never meant to rest.]

TIM: Concerning as it is, his sudden sleepiness does make great blackmail. I think I might have leverage over him for the rest of our lives by now. 

[Camera zooms as Tim holds his phone closer to the camera. It’s Jonathan, sleeping at his keyboard as the weight of his face types gibberish into the email composition tab. His shirt is visibly inside out, and his glasses are pushed against his face.]

TIM: This one is my favorite. He’s right photogenic, if you ask me. Best part? He somehow managed to hit send on it, and Elias to call him in to ask for clarification. 

[Cut back to the Jonathan sandwich splatter extravaganza.]

TIM: Jesus. You have your phone with you, Sash?

SASHA: Yep.

TIM: How morally flawed would it be if we—

SASHA: I am one step ahead of you, don’t worry.

[Sasha’s phone audibly clicks multiple times as she takes pictures.]

SASHA: To be serious, though. Is Jon… uh… good? I think I saw him forget where his tea cup was and try to drink out of that mug he keeps pens in. 

TIM: Hell if I know. He’s been weird ever since Marto got sick. 

TIM: (snorting) Maybe he’s so worried Martin’s actually playing hooky and sullying his good name with his antics. 

SASHA: Maybe he’s betrayed you, and Jon’s worried sick because he’s madly in love with Martin. 

TIM: Betrayed me? You wound me, Sash. And here I was about to reignite our passionate love affair. 

SASHA: Sorry, my heart already belongs to your mu—

[Jonathan shoots awake, eyes wild. He shouts in surprise, and Tim and Sasha, equally startled, shout as well.]

JONATHAN: Fuck!

TIM: (catching his breath) Damn it, Jon! What the hell? 

[Camera zooms on Jonathan. He’s looking around, seemingly only now noticing where he is, namely his place of work. He doesn’t look like he gives enough of a shit to care. Camera zooms back out.]

SASHA: Have you been sleeping okay, Jon? You’re starting to worry us. I’m sure Martin’s okay. 

TIM: Yeah. You can kiss Martin under the pale moonlight when he gets back, alright? 

[Jonathan squints at both of them. He pinches the bridge of his nose.]

JONATHAN: No, that’s not— Do you, uh… ever have dreams?

TIM: Uh. Yeah? Dreams are a thing people tend to have?

JONATHAN: No, no, uh… the bad ones. With, uh… people you know and empty graves? 

SASHA: You mean nightmares? Listen, I know there’s a lot of work to be done here, but I really think you should probably head h—

JONATHAN: (snapping his fingers and pointing at Sasha) Yeah, that. I’ve just been a little fatigued because of some nightmares, that is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe lunch hour is over. It would be greatly beneficial if we all got back to work. 

[A beat. Jonathan stands up and takes two steps towards the door back to the office before promptly conking out. Considering humans typically can’t sleep standing, and Jonathan is not in fact a horse or a giraffe, this leads to him promptly face planting onto the ground.]

TIM: Is he stupid or something? 

SASHA: Eh. Maybe, but I don’t think it’s the problem here. He’s just overworking himself. Rock paper scissors on who has to lift him onto the couch?

TIM: Ugh. You know how I feel about rock paper scissors. It’s just—

SASHA: (annoyed) Fine, fine! We can flip a coin. I can not hear your political commentary on rock paper scissors this many times in one week. 

TIM: (He’s digging around for his wallet.) Listen, you’re mocking me now, but ten to twenty years from now? You’ll understand. 

SASHA: (holding out hand for a coin) I’m sure I will. 

TIM: Heads or tails? 

[He digs out a penny, and theatrically pats it into Sasha’s hand. Sasha shrugs.]

SASHA: Heads. Shouldn’t you call the side if I’m flipping the coin? Actually, whatever. I don’t want to get you started on coin flip ethics.

[Sasha flips the coin. She does that thing, though, where you flip it too far and it lands on the ground instead of back on your hand. Camera zooms in on the coin as Sasha and Tim bend down to look at the coin face.]

SASHA: Hell yeah. Heads. I’m telling you, Stoker. I am undefeated in coin flips. 

TIM: Ugh. Whatever. Do we really have to move him? My hands are gonna smell like his sandwich sauce all day. 

SASHA: The coin doesn’t lie, Timothy. Look at the queen in her cold copper eyes. Would she lie to you?

TIM: Often. 

[Tim, very disgruntled, lifts Jonathan up anyways. He grimaces, then shifts his grip to something more comfortable.]

TIM: Oh, hey. That’s actually not as bad as I’d thought it’d be. He’s not even that heavy!

SASHA: Yeah, you’re right tough, Tim. Now, please remember to set down your dumbbell before you leave. 

TIM: Easy. Watch the strongest guy in the office work, Sash. 

[Tim moves to set Jonathan on the couch, looking almost impressed when Jonathan doesn’t even stir.]

SASHA: He looks so… p—

TIM: Perturbed? 

SASHA: I was going to say peaceful, but that fits better anyways, so we’re going to say you’re right. 

[A beat. Sasha and Tim look back and forth between each other and Jonathan. Scheming occurs.]

TIM: I’ll get the markers.

SASHA: Yep. I’ll grab the googly eyes. 

[Camera zooms in Jonathan, blissfully (?) asleep and unaware. Sasha and Tim’s voices fade as they walk off to gather materials for their respective pranks. Scene ends.]

Episode 3, Scene 2

[Scene opens on the archives bullpen. Tim and Sasha are uncharacteristically focused on their work. Camera pans over their desks, which both are covered in more paperwork than is usually seen. Albeit muffled, the sound of Jon reading a statement in his office is distantly audible.]

SASHA: (running a hand through her hair anxiously, then slamming her pencil onto her desk) I’m starting to get a little sick of Martin being sick, honestly.

TIM: Ouch. The man’s gonna have the stomach bug and an enemy now?

SASHA: No, that’s not— eugh. I was talking about the backlog we’re getting while he’s gone, not him actually being sick. It’s not his fault, I’m just. Sick of it. 

TIM: Sounds like he’s still going through it, too. He texted me last night he’s still not feeling great, and I haven’t even heard from him all of today. Not like him to stay AWOL even after I start sending him capybara compilations. 

SASHA: Capybara compilations? Why?

TIM: It’s a natural medicine. Anyways, I’ll bet that if Martin can’t even respond to my masterfully chosen video clips, he’s probably nearing his deathbed by now. 

[Enter Martin. He’s visibly disheveled. The curls of his hair are slightly greasy and sad looking. He’s wearing an old stretched out t-shirt and holding a mysterious can. He walks past Tim with a vacant expression.] 

MARTIN: (distantly) G’morning. 

TIM: Morning, Marto!

[Martin continues into Jon’s office, slamming the door behind him. Tim and Sasha process the last fifteen seconds.]

TIM: Wait, Marto?

SASHA: (simultaneously) Did you see that can squirm?

[A beat. In his office, Jonathan’s muffled shouting is heard. Something along the lines of “Good lord, Mahtin, what the actual fuck?” Sasha and Tim exchange glances.]

TIM: Do you think Martin snapped and is trying to kill Jon right now?

SASHA: …The possibility of that is not unlikely. 

TIM: Are we going to actually do anything about that?

SASHA: …The possibility of that is not likely.

TIM: Cool. Curiosity killed the canary, I guess.

SASHA: That’s so not how that saying goes.

TIM: Eh. 

[Cut to Jonathan’s office moments ago.]

JONATHAN: — and whether or not the sky could actually eat someone is another debate. It’s rather presumptuous to assume the sky couldn’t be vegetarian or vegan. This is why, in academia, it’s important to evaluate biases in your re—

[Door slaps open. Enter the very disheveled Martin.]

JONTHAN: Martin? I wasn’t aware you were coming in today. You said your doctor hadn’t signed you to come until… (Jonathan trails off, eyeing Martin.) Are you… alright?

MARTIN: (blankly) Worms. 

JONATHAN: … What?

[Martin opens the can, revealing a bunch of dead, thin silvery worms.]

JONATHAN: Good lord, Martin! What the hell? 

MARTIN: Worms. From my apartment. (Shaking the can a little, resulting in a kind of squelching maraca) It’s fine. They’re dead, see?

JONATHAN: No, no, I— I can see that, I was more concerned with— look. Martin. Why don’t you… lay down in the break room a while. You seem… disoriented, to say the least. 

MARTIN: How do you mean? 

JONATHAN: (a bit more directly) I mean that you look like shit, Martin. If you’re going to pass out, I would prefer you didn’t do so in my office.  

[A beat, followed by a war fought entirely through eye contact and raised eyebrows.]

MARTIN: But I thought I might need to make a st—

JONATHAN: Don’t care. Go. 

[Martin reluctantly exits, but not before patting the can of dead worms like a beloved pet. Camera pans to focus on Jonathan’s perturbed expression. Cut to a Jonathan confessional.]

JONATHAN: Why would he bring— I— what was the…

[Jonathan trails off in an attempt to think of a fully formulated sentence. He opens and closes his mouth a few times in a motion not dissimilar to a fish trying to speak in the human tongue. He does not succeed in reaching that complete sentence before he puts his head in his hands. Cut back to archives bullpen.]

[Camera briefly follows Martin as he ventures out into the hall towards the break room. Pan back over to Tim and Sasha as he walks out into the break room. They look over to Jonathan’s door. Zoom on the door as Sasha and Tim run up to knock on the door. Enter Jonathan.]

TIM: What the hell was that?

SASHA: What was he holding? What the hell was that? 

JONATHAN: (in a confused tone) …Worms?

[Footsge cuts. Camera opens back up on Jonathan and Martin in the break room. Martin sits on the less mediocre couch cushion, while Jonathan takes a nearby stool. In Jonathan’s hand is a tape recorder, very clearly beat up and apparently with googly eyes stuck on the front of them.]

JONATHAN: And you’re sure you’re okay with—

MARTIN: Yeah, yeah. I just— need to tell somebody. It doesn’t have to be an official statement or anything. Plus, I dunno as to whether anyone will believe me. I mean, you can at least testify to the soundness of my mind, right?

JONATHAN: No promises. 

MARTIN: … Oh. 

JONATHAN: Well. We might as well, um… Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding….

MARTIN: Worms. 

JONATHAN: …Right. Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding… worms. Statement recorded March 12th, 2016 by direct from subjects. 

ARCHIVIST: Statement begins.

MARTIN: First off, I might have been utterly lying when I said my mom was sick. I mean, she is, but, uh. She wasn’t actually any worse off than usual when I left, okay?

ARCHIVIST: You took a half day for a family emergency that you were lying about? Do you have any idea how severe that is? Of all of the—

MARTIN: Okay, okay! Listen, it was so I could research one of the statements. The Vittery case.

ARCHIVIST: What? But I said that case was—

MARTIN: Ugh, listen! It’s— it’s not relevant here, alright? Just— I was investigating the Vittery case because it didn’t sit right with me. I stopped home, took Duchess for her walk, and headed out towards Carlos Vittery’s apartment.

ARCHIVIST: (with mild confusion) Duchess?

MARTIN: Oh, yeah. She’s my dog. A spaniel, I think? I found her… in a place. So… I kept her. Yup.

MARTIN: Anyways, it was probably about three-o-clock when I got to Mr. Vittery’s apartment complex. It’s that one in Archway with the really ugly side panelling. 

ARCHIVIST: Yes. I’m… familiar. 

MARTIN: I know you told Sasha once that breaking and entering is a crime, but you didn’t actually tell me that, so I kind of just assumed it would be fine this one time?

ARCHIVIST: You—

MARTIN: (interrupting him) SO, I crawled in through the window of the basement like a slug covered in butter. I’m not the smallest guy, but working in the library teaches you that you have to be able to squeeze in just about anywhere, you know? The slug covered in butter mindset helps, but I know Donna once actually covered herself in olive oil so that she could slip into the vents. 

[Martin shrugs at an openly appalled Jonathan. He does not interrupt Martin. Cut to a confessional of Martin, at his desk rather than the break room. He digs around in the drawers and pulls out a small plaque. It has his name, place, and an ornate embellishment of a slug on it.]

MARTIN: We had a competition once, and I won second-runner up in the third annual Library Cave Divers competition.

[Confessional ends. Cut back to Martin, who is midway through his story.]

MARTIN: So I told her that if she was squatting down here, I promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s solidarity between breaking and entering and squatting offenders, you know?

ARCHIVIST: I thought you said you didn’t think—

MARTIN: Listen, Jon. I… appreciate your need for clarification, but you need to stop interjecting during my story. It’s honestly very rude?

ARCHIVIST: (taken aback by Martin’s having a backbone for once.) Oh— yes, yes. Of course. 

[Camera zooms in on the two. Martin narrows his eyes a little skeptically at the Archivist, who raises his hands in surrender and makes a little motion that he’s zipping his mouth shut.]

MARTIN (STATEMENT): So, I step closer because she isn’t responding, so I ask her if she needs an ambulance or a rehab program or the like, and she finally turns around. 

I thought it was a bad case of acne, and I was going to tell her my high school dermatologist’s number, and then… worms. In her face. And body. Everywhere. The dress she had on was quite nice, though. Not a real Dior, I think, but one of those knock-offs that still looks pretty nice? 

ARCHIVIST: (visibly unzipping the symbolic zipper in his mouth.) Martin. Please focus on the statement, if you will. 

MARTIN: …Right. Well, I panicked a little bit and did a dead sprint all the way back to my apartment. Long story. Dropped my phone. Almost bowled over an innocent pedestrian. So I get back, and I decide there’s no way Worm Lady somehow managed to follow me, much less already managed it. So I did what any self-respecting person would do and immediately went to bed.

[Camera pans to the Archivist, who actually does look like he’d pass out if he weren’t so intently listening. He nods in solidarity. Scene cuts again, the cameras apparently deciding the rest of Martin’s statement is uninteresting for studio audiences.]

MARTIN: —I was worried I’d have to start rationing after the first few days, but Donna gave me this big doomsday gift basket during my first week in the library, so I honestly ended up having a lot more supplies than I thought. Eventually, I guess the woman outside gave up, and when I opened the door it was empty, save for a little pile of dead worms I think she left me as a treat. So, uh… statement ends, I guess?

JONATHAN: So… you mean to tell me that you were trapped in your apartment for roughly two weeks by… worms.

MARTIN: Uh, yes. I think that might be the sum of it? 

JONATHAN: I just… I have a few.. questions? You don’t seem very fazed by this, Martin? 

MARTIN: Well, I had some experience dealing with bugs from working in the library. It’s pretty musty, so one can only imagine the critters that like to take advantage of that. 

JONATHAN: …..Right. You also mentioned your dog. Was she with you at the time?

MARTIN: Duchess? Oh, yeah. I was worried about her making a mess of the floors, but I think I somehow toilet trained her? I bought her food in the big bags anyway, so we were both pretty good. I was actually considering eating the stuff if things got desperate.  

JONATHAN: I see. And you’re sure about all of this, Martin?

MARTIN: Look, I’m not going to lie to you about something like this, Jon. I like my job… most of the time. 

JONATHAN: Very well. I assume you’re familiar with the document storage room? I suggest you stay there for now. There should be a cot in there I use when I’m working rather late, and it’s quite well sealed, so I don’t imagine anything sneaking in through the window cracks. 

MARTIN: (visibly surprised, stammering.) Huh? Right, thanks. Didn’t really expect you to believe me. 

JONATHAN: (blandly) Yes, I’m full of surprises. You said you lost your phone when you encountered Prentiss?

MARTIN: Just about, yeah? 

JONATHAN: Huh. Well, myself, Sasha, and Tim have all been receiving text messages from you throughout these two weeks, where you claimed you had some kind of stomach bug. Your last one said you had a “evil demon in your gut”, and then radio silence. Believe me, Martin. If this may involved Jane Prentiss, then this is very serious— Hang on.

[Pause. Jonathan stops talking and blinks, pulling his phone from his pocket.]

MARTIN: Huh? What is it?

JONATHAN: A text message. From you. “Keep ur bitch”. But your is just spelled U-R. “going to doxx u in a few xoxo”. Oh, you is spelled—

MARTIN: I think I get the idea. What does that mean? 

JONATHAN: Well, it’s usually a shorthand people do to abbreviate the word “you”. 

[A beat. Martin stares at Jonathan in genuine disbelief.]

JONATHAN: Oh. The message, you mean. Well, it means she’s apparently still aware enough to use slang. I’ll have to ask Elias to hire more security.

[Scene Ends.]

Chapter Text

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institute, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all. 

Season 1, Episode 4: Bring Your Monster to Work Day. 

Episode 4, Scene 1.

[Scene opens on the archives bullpen, camera pointing out across the general office, where an abnormal amount of people are sat in tense silence. The vast majority either don’t work in the archives or even in the institute at all. Tim is at the window looking into Jonathan’s office, obviously trying to peer through the blinds.]

WOMAN 1: (leaning towards Tim) Any luck, blondie?

[Tim glances back at the man. His expression is solemn.]

TIM: Nothing significant yet. But it’s not looking good. 

MAN 1: Huh? Did you hear what they were saying? 

TIM: No, but it kind of looked like Martin was going to cry. Not a great sign. 

[Cut to Tim in confessionals. He looks serious.]

TIM: Marto’s been working up the courage to ask bossman something pretty major ever since he started staying in the archives, if you get me. It’s a really big deal, especially when he’s asking someone like Jon this kind of question. 

[Tim gestures over his shoulder.]

TIM: Originally, it was just David down here when Martin went into the office. But I guess either word spread or a lot of people ended up wandering down today, so we’ve got a lot of foot traffic right now. It’s been about ten minutes, so we’ve all just been waiting really impatiently for the outcome here. 

[Confessional ends. Cut back to a man and woman standing next to each other in front of Tim.]

WOMAN 2: Want me or David to give it a crack? (gesturing to MAN 1, apparently DAVID.) I think we’ve both done our fair share of eavesdropping.

EXTRA 3: Listen, guys. Can we consider whether this is even worth it? Is this really anyone’s business except Mr. Sims and—

SASHA: Ah, come off it, Laurie. You want to know just as bad as the rest of them. 

TIM: (nodding) Glass houses and st— wait. Guys, guys, step back! They’re leaving the office!

[The door creaks open. Enter Martin, who looks perpetually exhausted as of late. The entire room watches him leave with bated breath. Martin looks unsure at the group of people crammed into the admittedly small department. Slow camera pan over the crowd, stopping at WOMAN 1, who finally speaks up.]

WOMAN 1: Well? What’d he say?

TIM: Did he agree? Is it happening? 

MARTIN: (excitedly, suddenly beaming) He said yes!

[A resounding wave of cheers floods the archives. Two people in the back, possibly from the library judging by their name tags, are seen kissing in a fit of passion at the news. That, or they’re using the momentous event as an excuse for public displays of affection.]

SASHA: That’s fantastic, Martin! Do you need any help getting ready? 

MARTIN: Maybe in a bit? I’ll have to stop by HR first, to get everything sorted and all. 

SASHA: Yeah, of course, of course. 

TIM: (patting Martin on the back) Good job, Marto! Knew you’d convince bossman eventually. 

[Martin begins to exit the bullpen with a bashful demeanor, urged on by cheering. Camera cuts to HR OFFICE, where Martin knocks with uncharacteristic confidence on a door reading “CHIEF HUMAN RESOURCES OFFICER”. Martin enters the office of a friendly looking man with a thick beard and well-trimmed hair.]

MARTIN: Kabir. You know why I’m here. 

KABIR: Hm? Oh, of course. (Reaching under his desk.) Do remember, though, this is a very serious commitment.

MARTIN: Yeah,I— uh, I know. I just— I needed to do it. 

[Kabir pulls a small red leash out from the space under his desk. An indignant huff is audible from beneath the desk, but eventually that small leash is followed in succession by a slightly bigger dog. A spaniel, if one were to guess. It leaps at Martin the moment it notices his existence.]

MARTIN: (with great joy) Duchess! Oh, I missed you! Has Kabir been treating you well, love?

DUCHESS: [extended sounds of canine joy]

KABIR: (resting his chin in his hand) So, I take it Mr. Sims said she could stay?

MARTIN: Well, he more implied it? He didn’t explicitly say yes, but he was like.. (in a bad Jonathan impersonation) “Well, Mahtin, I suppose that, given the circumstances, I could be amenable to considering allowing you to keep your dog here.”

KABIR: Ah. Close enough, yes?

MARTIN: That’s how I interpreted it? I figured at this point, I may as well ask forgiveness later. 

KABIR: I’m sure you will not have to worry about that, Martin! The young lady was quite well behaved while I had her, so I would not think Mr. Sims would take issue with her!

MARTIN: (muttering) You’d be surprised. 

KABIR: Sorry, did you say something? 

MARTIN: Oh, no, no! I was.. just talking to myself! I do that sometimes! 

KABIR: Of course, of course. It was lovely to chat, Mr. Blackwood, but now I do fear I must be getting back to work. There is quite a bit of paperwork we have to do here!

[Camera zooms on Kabir’s papers. They’re all in pig latin. And written in silver sharpie. The title of the paper most visible very clearly reads: “Eway eednay otay utcay Ealthhay enefitsbay” Martin turns to look at the paper and squints.]

MARTIN: Wait, are our health benefits getting c—

KABIR: As I said, Mr. Blackwood, I’m very busy, so I would appreciate it if you could let me get to work! I do not have any more time to chat, so farewell! 

MARTIN: …Right.

[Martin exits the HR office. Camera cuts to him a few moments later, near the archives, but stopped for a brief confessional.]

MARTIN: Kabir’s the current head of HR at the institute. We used to have the same lunch hour, so we’re kind of friends? He’s been watching Duchess for me while I figure out my current living arrangements after… everything.

[Martin lifts up Duchess, who immediately starts to excitedly lick his face in the wake of the slightest attention.]

MARTIN: Oh, were you a lovely angel for Kabir? Yes you were! Yes you were! 

[He sets down Duchess and composes himself.]

MARTIN: Kabir’s… well, he's nice! He’s a really nice guy! I’m just… not sure how good he is at his.. hm… job? I think he’s been working here longer than I’ve been alive, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard of HR actually helping anyone with the problems they report. 

[Confessional ends. Cameras cut to the archives bullpen, where a small crowd still gathers. Jonathan’s door is conspicuously shut tight. Martin enters with Duchess, who prances about carelessly on her leash, like a creature with no thoughts. Cheers resound at her entrance. Tim and David from research approach Martin.]

TIM: Hell yeah! Institute therapy dog! 

MARTIN: Well, I’m not sure she’s specifically trained for that, but you’re welcome to pet her if it helps you?

DAVID: Does she know how to shake hands? Play dead? Attack?

MARTIN: Uh. No, no, and… maybe?

DAVID: Damn. Can she sit on command? 

MARTIN: …No. But she’s toilet trained? On an actual toilet? 

[David looks between Tim, Martin, and Duchess. He sighs]

DAVID: Oh. Well. I’m suddenly very busy. Catch you later, then. (He pauses.) By the way, Tim? That conversation from earlier? Not over. 

TIM: (mildly red) Come off it, David! I’m not really sure what you—

DAVID: I mean it, Stoker. I’ll find you. 

TIM: Yeah, yeah. Now scram. 

[David waves absentmindedly and exits with the rest of the crowd. The room appears to be empty save for the actual staff and WOMAN 1]

MARTIN: (to WOMAN 1) Oh… did you… need something?

WOMAN: Huh? Oh, yeah. I was actually here to get a paper to make a statement. But things got… exciting?

MARTIN: Ah. Yeah. Just one moment, then! I’ll grab you a copy of our statement paper from the storage room, yeah? Just take a seat in our statement room over there.

WOMAN: Right, right.

[Camera cuts to Jonathan in his office, head in his hand as he works at his computer. His laptop makes an email notification sound, and he audibly groans. Camera zooms to him in confessional at his desk.]

JONATHAN: An email from Elias. (In a strikingly bad Elias impersonation) Jonathan. I hope this email finds you in good health. Please come to my office at your earliest convenience. Sincerely, Elias Bouchard. 

JONATHAN: Fuck. 

Episode 4, Scene 2

[Scene opens in Elias’s office, midday. Elias is smiling wryly from his seat, while Jonathan looks tempted to kill himself then and there.]

ELIAS: Jon. I believe you may be aware why I’ve called you here today?

JONATHAN: (lying) I… can’t say I am. 

ELIAS: You don’t think it could have anything to do with the little soirée some of your employees were hosting in the archives? 

JONATHAN: (He’s still lying. For some goddamn reason.) …I can’t say I’m familiar with the word soirée. 

ELIAS: I want to discuss the events that somehow led up to roughly twenty people jammed into the archives while you gave Martin permission to let an uncertified, potentially untrained dog not only enter the archives, but live there.

JONATHAN: With all due respect Elias, I think that given the—-

ELIAS: I don’t think I even should have to explain to you the liabilities associated with keeping any dog that is not a service animal in the building. We have no paperwork that indicates whether she has all of her shots and flea medications. Actually, we have no paperwork at all, as a matter of fact. 

JONATHAN: (beginning to raise his voice) I can arrange—

ELIAS: Furthermore, I understand that the archives have been struggling in light of recent events, but the dress code violations in recent weeks have been nothing short of ap—

JONATHAN: (shouting) If you would let me finish, Elias!

[Camera rapidly pans over to a bewildered Elias as Jonathan slams his hands on the desk. Cheeks flushed red, Jonathan’s confidence deflates from him. He clears his throat and continues, despite being visibly humiliated.]

JONATHAN: I, uhm. Sorry. As—- as I was uh. Saying. (Far more calmly) I assure you, Elias, I will have everything handled regarding the dog. I have already instructed Martin to print out the proper documentation on Duch— the dog’s vaccinations, and Martin has already more than proven that his dog is capable of being well-behaved in the institute. 

[Elias does not react save for his fading surprise. He only stares at Jonathan with a blank, distant interest.]

JONATHAN: And given that one of the primary factors that led to Martin’s flat becoming compromised was work he was doing for the institute, I feel that Martin is more than reasonable in his request to keep his dog with him. 

ELIAS: I see. (He’s clearly recovering from the initial stumble, smiling pleasantly again.) Apologies, Jon. I admit that was an, ah, overreaction on my part. I have no doubt that you are handling this all with the exact grace and skill I know you’re capable of. I was merely… concerned, so to speak. 

JONATHAN: Y-Yes, yes. And I, uhm, shouldn’t have raised my voice. 

ELIAS: (Apparently unable to STFU.) You’ve been performing splendidly in your new position at the institute thus far, Jon. I would hate to see such a.. um.. minor incident with a dog of all things set back all of the progress you’ve made here.

[Still giving Jonathan his signature Bouchard Smile, Elias changes course. Camera zooms slightly on Jonathan. He looks mildly uncomfortable.]

ELIAS: While I have you, Jon.. (pulling out a thick folder) This is typically the time period this quarter where our departments can file their equipment requests. It’s typically our budget allotment for supplies like staplers, crucifixes, printer paper, and so on. 

JONATHAN: Did you say crucifixes?

ELIAS: What? No. That’s completely irrelevant to an office space, Jon. Please, this is actually quite important information. 

JONATHAN: (wryly) Then by all means. 

ELIAS: Right. Now, if you find that you’re going to need something beyond the typical price of your everyday supplies, you’ll need to contact the admin department directly, where they’re going to handle that using a different expenses budget. 

JONATHAN: Such as..?

ELIAS: Well, Research needed a new copier, since theirs stopped working after that whole Lampshade debacle. Just major appliances of that sort. 

JONATHAN: Got it, got it. 

[Elias passes the folder to Jonathan, who hefts it with a little surprise at its weight. Jonathan glances at the camera in exasperation.]

ELIAS: These are due in by roughly next month, so we have sufficient time to place the orders we need to. Admin can’t accept anything after these request forms, so additional supplies would have to come out of your pocket if you haven’t put them down already. 

JONATHAN: (with visible boredom) …I understand, Elias. Thank you. Did you… need anything else?

ELIAS: Ah, no. That will be all, thank you. 

[Jonathan exits, and Elias returns to his paperwork. Scene ends.]

Episode 4, Scene 2.

[Scene opens on a mess of scene in the archives, the camera obviously frantically switched on in an attempt to quickly capture what’s happening. Everyone appears to be in the main archives bullpen, shouting. Duchess is incessantly barking. Sasha is covered in blood and dirt, with… something standing next to her.]

MARTIN: Oh my god, what the hell is that?

MICHA

[Camera shuts off. Scene reopens in on a calmer scene, albeit with a lower resolution. Sasha sits on a couch outside of Jonathan’s office. Tim is wrapping up her arm.]

TIM: Jesus, Sash. You really want to be giving statements right now? 

SASHA: I don’t see why not? I’m still alive, aren’t I? My research was calculated, it’s just that the results were… less so. 

JONATHAN: (sitting on a pilfered desk chair, staring at her.) You’re bleeding profusely and covered in mystery slime. 

TIM: Damn. Reminds me of college.

SASHA: (ignoring Tim) Like I said. Calculated risk. Rubbish math. You didn’t give Martin a break first. Is it because you think I’m a weak, fragile woman? Jon, what did we say about re—

JONATHAN: —reevaluating biases, yes, yes. I’ve quite got the idea by now. Martin’s case was… circumstantial. He was living in the archives. I couldn’t very well ask him to vacation here. 

MARTIN: (earnestly) I think that would be worse than actually doing my job. 

JONATHAN: Precisely. Now. Unless you’re planning to move in, I hardly think a full statement is necessary at the moment. 

SASHA: I guess? I feel like it might be helpful, but you’re the boss. 

TIM: (abruptly) I’m sorry, can we please acknowledge the massive elephant in the room here? 

JONATHAN: I’m not sure what you mean?

TIM: Who or what the fuck is that?

[Tim gestures offscreen. Camera very slowly pans to a nearby desk, where a thin, oddly shaped creature sits, chin rested in twisted, gnarled and clawed palms. He’s looking at the camera, yet away from it at any given point. If the others notice his odd frame, they don’t show it on their faces. Duchess is calmly sitting in its lap.]

SASHA: Oh. That’s Michael. I think.

TIM: I cannot iterate how little this clarifies anything about this situation. And what do you mean you think? 

SASHA: I don’t think he really does names. It’s a long story. 

[The camera crackles like a Geiger counter, and suddenly the figure is standing directly in front of Jonathan.]

MICHAEL: Hm. You are every bit what I imagined, Archivist. Fascinating.. 

JONATHAN: (with an undignified yelp) Good lord! What the hell are you? 

SASHA: Ah, now you’ve done it. You’re going to get him on about this again. 

MICHAEL: It… doesn’t matter. I couldn’t explain it, even if I wanted to. How would a melody describe itself?

[Jonathan stares up at Michael in abject confusion. There’s a few beats of silence.]

JONATHAN: I mean. Pretty easily? That is very literally the purpose of sheet music. Do you not know what sheet music is? (He pinches the bridge of his nose) It doesn’t matter. We’re getting off track here. Sasha. Why did you bring him here? 

TIM: Not that I’m complaining about tall, blond, and vaguely ominous. 

MARTIN: (a little weakly) Tim. You brought him up specifically to complain, though?

SASHA: Oh, yeah. He stabbed me a bit ago. 

[The room is silent. Martin, Tim, and Jonathan look at Sasha in wide-eyed, abject horror. She looks visibly disconcerted.]

SASHA: It was justified, though. He was getting the worm out of my arm. 

[Martin and Jonathan and start talking at once.]

MARTIN: Worms???? Was this near the institute? Is it still there? 

JONATHAN: You let someone who stabbed you into the archives?

SASHA: Ok, ok, ok! Jesus! Listen. I didn’t let him in. He just walked in. I am not paid enough to be Institute security, Jon, especially if the intruder has just shown himself capable of stabbing me!

JONATHAN: …Right. Perhaps you should make that statement after all. As for, uh, “Michael”…

MICHAEL: You’ve no jurisdiction over me, Archivist. I will do as I please. 

JONATHAN: … We will keep an eye on him. 

[Michael snorts, and then does something that could potentially be called laughing. The camera starts to click and crackle into static again, and the audio cuts out, but the energy is there.]

JONATHAN: What? What’s so funny?

MICHAEL: Nothing, nothing. Nothing you would understand now. 

JONATHAN: (perturbed) I see. Well. Sasha, if you would?

[Jonathan makes a vague gesture to the hallway leading to the statement room.]

SASHA: Yeah, yeah. As long as you don’t make me write it. My dominant arm’s a bit out of commission right now. 

JONATHAN: (as they walk away) You’re left handed? I didn’t know that. 

SASHA: You’ve known me how long? 

[Their voices retreat. Tim, Martin, and Michael stand in relative silence in the archives bullpen.]

TIM: So… uh. You ever played blackjack, Mikey? 

MICHAEL: …In a sense. 

[Tim holds up a gaudy, Twilight themed deck of cards and gestures it vaguely in Michael’s direction. Michael does something that could be a shrug, and he’s sitting.]

TIM: Ok, I accidentally scratched off the numbers on all the fours, but I have a paper that tells you which is which. The club is Edward, the spade is Jacob, the heart is Bella, and the diamond is Carlisle. 

MARTIN: Carlisle? That seems out of place. 

TIM: Listen, Martin. I don’t control the people they put on my gimmick card decks. I’ll deal first. 

[Tim starts shuffling, and passes out the first two cards to Michael and Martin. Michael tilts his head]

MICHAEL: I know quite the fascinating variation of this game, you know. Have you ever played, ah, Joker Blackjack? 

TIM: Well, I’m about to. Lay it on me, knife hands.

[Michael grins, and the camera lens shatters into fractals on screen. Scene cuts to the Archivist and Sasha in the statement room, winding down a statement. The camera is fine.]

SASHA: — And honestly, I’m still pretty sure I could take Prentiss any day. 

ARCHIVIST: In a fight, or..?

SASHA: Eh. Depends on the mood. 

ARCHIVIST: I see. Statement ends.

[Jonathan turns off the tape recorder and turns to Sasha.]

SASHA: So… what do you think?

JONATHAN: I think you’re the most intelligent idiot I’ve ever met. In my opinion, the most likely outcome for literally everything you experienced in your statement is a slow, gruesome death. You should have been dead four times over with the decisions you made.

SASHA: And yet I’m here!

JONATHAN: Indeed you are. I don’t… doubt the validity of your statement. You’re the most level headed out of either of the other two, and I think your, ah, guest, is more than enough proof of your encounters. 

SASHA: Right, right. Now that you have my statement and everything, is it alright if I crash on the couch in the break room? I think I might’ve lost a lot of blood. Feelin’ woozy.

JONATHAN: Should… we take you to A&E?

SASHA: Nah, nah. I’m fine. I’ve had worse.

[A beat. They stare at each other in long, awkward silence.]

JONATHAN: I somehow doubt that. Just— don’t overwork yourself if you’re not going to go home. 

SASHA: The Jonathan Sims, concerned for my well being? Are you dying soon or something? 

JONATHAN: That’s—

SASHA: Messing with you. I’m going, don’t worry. Sash dog out. 

[Sasha stumbles out of the room into the hallway, Jonathan following after. He continues into the archives bullpen after seeing her enter the break room. He stops in the doorway. Camera follows his line of sight to the three people hunched over Tim’s desk.]

MICHAEL: You pulled the Penrose triangle. That puts your number into scientific notation. 

TIM: Fuck!  

[Tim, Martin, and Michael are playing blackjack. Tim has eighty cards, most of which would never be seen in a real deck of cards. Every card is plastered with a highly photoshopped member of the Twilight cast.]

MARTIN: I’m starting to think that this first round is going on a bit long. Hit or stay. 

TIM: Yeah. Hit me. (Michael passes him a card.) Damn it! 

MARTIN: Vague dread card?

TIM: Yup. I hate Joker Blackjack. 

[Jonathan approaches. He looks down at the card game in disgust.]

JONATHAN: What in the world is this?

MICHAEL, TIM, MARTIN (in unison): Joker Blackjack.

JONATHAN: (vague look of confused disapproval)

MARTIN: Uhm, it’s uh. It’s like normal blackjack, but you keep the Joker in the deck, and they’re negative ten. Also, if you get a Planck’s constant, you reverse your number. The Penrose triangle puts it into scientific notation, and the vague d—

JONATHAN: Yes, that is quite enough. If you and Tim have the time to memorize card game rules, you certainly have enough time to work on your backlog. 

MARTIN: Right, right… Sorry.

TIM: Aw, c’mon boss. Sasha just got stabbed. We’re coping. 

MICHAEL: Very insensitive, Archivist. Do you truly have so little esteem for your beloved assistants? 

JONATHAN: (irritably) …And why, exactly, are you still here? What do you want?

MICHAEL: (the vague sound of laughing is interspersed with sudden, overwhelming static) I’m intrigued. Isn’t that why you’re here, as well?

JONATHAN: I— um… (steeling himself). Martin. Tim. Just be sure your… coping mechanisms don’t interfere too majorly with your performance, in the future. Stabbings notwithstanding, I highly doubt that playing cards with one of Sasha’s attackers is going to improve your mood. 

TIM: You bet, boss! Your poor academic henchmen will be back to work as soon as we finish this round. Just sitting there… crying… at our desks. 

JONATHAN: Just be sure none of your tears ruin the documents. 

[Jonathan slams the door to his office behind him, and the remaining three look at each other with raised eyebrows.]

TIM: Lord. Somebody’s grumpy. 

[Scene Ends.]

Episode Four, Bonus Scene:

[Camera opens on Jon at his desk. He’s holding the budget form from Elias and frantically scribbling words into it. Camera turns to get a shot of the paper. “CARBON DIOXIDE EXTINGUISHERS” is written twelve times in splotchy pen ink. Neatly written below is “Pepper spray”. Midway through his next entry of “Stapler”, a knock is heard at his door.]

JONATHAN: Come in. 

[Door opens. Enter Martin.]

MARTIN: Uh. There’s someone here to make a live statement? A Melanie King?

JONATHAN: (with no shortage of irritation) Oh, wonderful. Send her into my office.

[Martin nods, and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Jonathan sighs. He sets up his laptop to record, as well as a tape recorder. Camera shuts off.]

Chapter Text

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institute, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all. 

Season 1, Episode 5: Office Drama.

Episode 5, Scene 1

[Scene opens on Martin and Sasha in the break room. They appear to be eating lunch. Sasha has leftover picadillo and rice that Martin repeatedly eyes with some kind of passion while he eats his soggy egg salad sandwich.]

SASHA: Martin, I can give you some of my lunch. This is kind of sad. 

MARTIN: (blinking) Huh? What did you say?

SASHA: I said that you can have some of my lunch instead of eating that monstrosity, if you want. 

MARTIN: What’s wrong with egg salad sandwiches? I like them. Why does everyone here hate egg salad sandwiches all of a sudden?

SASHA: I’m just offering Martin! No need to get defensive, good lord! I mean, you were looking at my picadillo like you wanted to murder me to get to it. And you’d lose, too. 

MARTIN: What? No. I mean— I’m sure it’s very good, I just— that’s not— I…

[He pauses, putting his head in his hands and sighing loudly.]

SASHA: It’s okay, Martin. Take your time, sweetie. 

MARTIN: (flushed) I wasn’t trying to steal your lunch! I was thinking about something else, alright?

SASHA: Oh, the statement giver? 

MARTIN: I didn’t say—

SASHA: Your brainwaves implied it. Go on. I think everyone has certain opinions on Melanie King. Nothing like classic cancel culture. 

MARTIN: That’s not… whatever. I’m just worried about the idea of leaving Jon alone in the statement room with her. She seemed kind of… apprehensive?

SASHA: How do you mean? She just seemed confident to me. I think you might just be intimidated by confident people.

MARTIN: (exasperated and slightly intimidated) Whatever. I’m right about this. I just don’t want anyone getting hurt because one of our statement givers blew their tops and went all bonkers.

SASHA: You're overthinking, Martin. Besides, Jon isn’t alone with her anyways. Tim’s keeping an eye on things. 

MARTIN: What? I didn’t see him go into the statement room, though?

[Sasha doesn’t respond, opting instead to look at the camera with thinly veiled amusement. Camera cuts to a poorly lit shot inside of a vent, clearly filmed on a cell phone.]

TIM’S VOICE: Tim here. 

[The lightning is incredibly low, almost to the point of complete blackness as Tim speaks.]

TIM: We were kind of worried about bossman getting mugged, so I was chosen to crawl in the vents and spy on them. And by chosen I mean I volunteered, because I’m just that dedicated. (audible yelp) Shit, dead rat. Gross. 

[Extended sounds of rustling as Tim crawls.]

TIM: Now, I’m not really sure where any of these vents lead, but I’m planning on just wandering until I hear people talking. I think that’s the strategy, so I’ll just, uh… keep at it. 

[Scene cuts away from Tim. Reopen back on Sasha and Martin. They’re mid-conversation.]

MARTIN: —No, yeah. My cousin went there, I think. Said their business program really went down the drain after the schools merged. 

SASHA: Really? My mum was in the business program and she—

[They're interrupted by shouting, followed by a dull thud, a crack, and even more shouting. Sasha and Martin share a look.]

MARTIN: Oh, dear. 

[Without further conversation, both parties hurry into the hallway to see what the commotion is about.]

MELANIE: (storming out, but turning around to shout back into the room) Serves you right, dickhead! 

JONATHAN’S VOICE: (acerbically, shouting after her) Try not to let your delusions hit you on the way out, Miss King!

[Jonathan enters from the statement room. He holds a tape recording one hand, another hovering around his nose. Said nose is visibly broken and bloody. He’s scowling, but distracted.]

SASHA: Jesus, Jon! Did she break your fucking nose? 

JONATHAN: Hm? Oh, yes, it appears so. Not relevant. (wiping his nose) Martin. I need you to try to reach out to a woman named Georgie Barker. She runs a podcast, “What The Ghost”. She should be easy to find. 

MARTIN: I— okay? 

SASHA: Cool, cool. Research is all sorted. Can we address the fact that you just got punched now? And we just let her walk out the door? You could press charges for that, Jon!

JONATHAN: I would rather not address that. It’s not a — (wincing, scrunching his face) ow, ow, ow— It’s not a matter I need to discuss with my coworkers. We had a… brief dispute, Miss King was an irritable bitch, and she punched me. End of story. I don’t see any real need to dwell on the matter, Sasha.

MARTIN: Uh, I’m going to uh… go do that research now. At my desk and… not here. Big Mart out. 

[Martin anxiously scampers down the hallway towards his desk. Jonathan and Sasha stare after him in silence for a while before turning back to each other.]

SASHA: Jon! You can’t just call people irritable bitches! That’s messed up! 

JONATHAN: Whose side are you on here?

SASHA: That was before. I’m starting to see her point now! What did you say to her to make her punch you?

JONATHAN: I merely reminded Miss King that her career might leave her quite the active imagination and a heavily skewed sleep schedule. Judging by her corroborating evidence, or lack thereof, I saw no reason to lie to her. I did not believe her story, and I was not going to sit there and tell her I did.

SASHA: Okay, I’m seeing the chain of events here now. 

JONATHAN: What? 

SASHA: (somewhat jokingly) You’re an arse. 

JONATHAN: (scoffing) Please, she was hardly an innocent party. Her comments on the institute were nothing short of—

[One of the ceiling vents suddenly creaks before it breaks completely. From the vent enters Tim, crashing down from the ceiling at high speeds. He lands face down on the floor. He’s wearing swimming goggles, a beige trench coat, pineapple shorts, and bright red high heels.]

JONATHAN: — outrageous. 

TIM: (peeling his face off the floor) Oh, hi, guys! (he raises an eyebrow) Jon… Did the statement giver punch you, or are you just happy to see me? 

[A beat. Several extended awkward moments of silence.]

JONATHAN: Get up, Tim. And take off those heels. They don’t match your shorts in the slightest. 

TIM: …right.

[Cut to confessional. The goggles are moved to Tim’s forehead, but there’s still a visible red mark around his eyes. He’s covered in dust.]

TIM: This is my spying outfit. It’s pretty casual, so I like to wear it when I’m trying not to stand out. Although, I think the trench coat might be a bit conspicuous. Once, I wore this to the pub when I was meeting with a particularly jumpy statement giver for follow-up, and nobody even batted an eye at me. It's foolproof.

[Confessionals begin to cycle between different staff members.]

JONATHAN (CONFESSIONAL): Tim’s… unorthodox fashion sense has been a major point of contention in the past. He has this delusion that a combination of absurd clothing will somehow combine and make him invisible. It’s… definitely a train of logic. 

MARTIN (CONFESSIONAL): He’s doing his best. I’m not really sure how that’s supposed to be a spy outfit, but I really admire his dedication?

SASHA (CONFESSIONAL): I had him over at my flat once, and he stood in the corner of my living room for three hours in that outfit swearing he was invisible. Drove me nuts. 

[Compilation ends. Cut back to Tim.]

TIM: Besides, my friends would tell me if it wasn’t effective. 

[Camera cuts. End scene.]

Episode 5, Scene 2

[The Archives, early morning. The camera is grainy and has an old looking quality to it. Martin is sitting at his desk, nearly asleep in a cup of tea. Sasha is typing on the computer. Tim is nowhere to be seen, but Jonathan is just entering and putting his coat up on a hook near the doorway to the hall. His broken nose is splinted.]

SASHA: Oh, morning, Jon? Not like you to be here after me. 

JONATHAN: Yes, yes. The tube had a delay, unfortunately. Set me off schedule quite a b—

[Jonathan pauses, looking at a point past the camera with blatant dismay.]

JONATHAN: Why is he here.

MARTIN: Oh, uh. I’m… an employee here? Was I not supposed to be here?

JONATHAN: (waving his arms vaguely) No, no, not you. Michael! Why is he here?

[Camera pans over to The Distort

[Camera pans over to Michael, who is slumped over an old iMac as twisted as he is. He looks up at the name and smiles wider than usual.]

SASHA: What do you mean? Michael isn’t even h— (turning around) Oh, Jesus! Michael! Why are you here?

MICHAEL: Your alarm is quite unwarranted, Sasha James. I have as much a right to be here as you do. I work here. 

JONATHAN: What? You most certainly do not work here. 

[Michael looks smug, or as smug as the camera quality can capture. Cut to Elias’s office. Jonathan, Sasha, and Michael are standing on the other side of the desk from Elias.]

ELIAS: Well, I’ve checked some paperwork… and it does seem to look like he works here, after all. 

JONATHAN: You cannot be serious. 

SASHA: (overlapping) What do you mean it seems? Aren’t you literally in charge of the hiring process?

ELIAS: Well, it’s… a little complicated. It seems that he’s on our payroll, but whatever paperwork we had for it has either been misplaced or was before my time. 

MICHAEL: I was on a vacation, you see. In scenic Russia. For… a little bit, yes?

JONATHAN: (ignoring Michael) Well, can’t you fire him? He’s a completely redundant employee, and he stabbed Sasha!

SASHA: Well, that wasn’t actually so bad. Good cause and all. 

ELIAS: Listen, Jon. With the way his paperwork is, I don’t think there’s truly anything I can do as an individual. If you really have an issue, I would reach out to Kabir in HR. I’m sure he could find Michael’s initial employment forms very easily. 

[Sasha and Jonathan share terrified looks the moment the phrase “HR” leaves Elias’s mouth. Michael smiles wide enough to make the camera crackle.]

JONATHAN: (frantically) Nevermind. We will… deal with things internally. Thank you for your time anyways, Elias. 

ELIAS: Hm? Are you sure? I can set up a meeting for you if you’d like. Kabir is a very good HR rep of the Instit—

JONATHAN: No! Truly, I— I’m sure Michael isn’t as bad as th— I mean. I’m sure Michael will prove himself to be an incredibly valuable employee.

ELIAS: (skeptically) …Right. Well, I’m sure you’re aware that if you have any further concerns, you can send me an email. Have a good day, you two. 

[Elias smiles pleasantly but tightly, and Sasha and Jonathan share a look. They shrug, and then all three parties exit Elias’s office. Camera cuts to a Sasha Confessional.]

SASHA: Well, apparently, eldritch knife monsters are not immune to the corporate rat race.

[Camera cuts. Pan over the archives bullpen. Tim, Sasha and Martin are working. Michael is sitting at a vacant desk smiling. He is not touching his ancient iMac.]

SASHA’S VOICEOVER: We kind of just let him hang out most days. I don’t think he’s actually done any real work. 

[Brief cutaway to Martin in the break room. He’s making a cup of tea, and opens the cabinet above the counter to grab some tea bags.]

MICHAEL: (inside the cabinet, somehow, upside down.) Making a cuppa for the boss?

[Martin shrieks, slamming the cabinet closed again. Cut back to Sasha’s confessional.]

SASHA: (sheepishly) It’s been… a learning curve. We’re all doing our best. 

[Camera cuts. Scene ends.]

Episode 5, Scene 3. 

[Archives Document Storage, approximately 2pm. Jonathan sits on the edge of the cot, with his head in his hands. He's not crying, but he’s taking very purposeful deep breaths in and out.]

JONATHAN: (inhaling sharply) Fuck this job. 

[Tim enters Document Storage cautiously a few minutes later. He stops when he sees Jonathan.]

TIM: Bossman? You good? 

JONATHAN: (tightly) Yes I’m— I’m quite alright. Just taking a momentary break. 

TIM: Alright and a liar, apparently. (sitting next to Jonathan) Breakup? Family drama? Nervous breakdown? Come on, mate, it happens to the best of us.

JONATHAN: …Tim, really. I don’t think my supposed “emotional turmoil” is any of your—

TIM: Jon. I won’t pry, but…

JONATHAN: Fine. Sasha found Prentiss’s statement. 

TIM: Oh, shit. 

JONATHAN: It’s… it’s not a pleasant statement. I was just going to lie down for a bit. 

TIM: Oh. Right, right… sorry.

[There are a few moments of tense silence. Jon’s brows are furrowed and he wrings his hands. Tim stares at nothing in particular.]

TIM: (clearing his throat) You know, the entire research department thought you and I were shagging. 

[Jonathan makes some kind of weird strangled choking sound. He swivels to gape at Tim fast enough for his neck to audibly crack.]

JONATHAN: I beg your pardon? 

TIM: It came up when I was talking to David earlier today. They were convinced we were together. Apparently Laurie even thought we were secretly married. 

JONATHAN: That’s— (huffing a laugh) Why on earth did you think I needed to know this? With that wording?

TIM: I thought we were talking crazy shit we had to deal with today. I mean, I’m no worm expert, but uh. I do love office dramatics. 

JONATHAN: (sniffling) You’re ridiculous. 

[Tim shrugs. He doesn’t meet Jonathan’s eyes, but instead stares at some distant object in the back of Document Storage.]

TIM: I’m an agent of the truth, boss. And there’s no truth like the fact that apparently the institute’s made up a romcom with us in it. 

JONATHAN: What a ridiculous idea.

TIM: Right? I mean, you and I. That’s just… 

[Awkward silence again. Tim and Jonathan very briefly meet eyes before Tim abruptly stands up, a little flushed.]

TIM: I’ll uh. I’ll let you get back to that lying down you had planned. It’s… uh. It’s all gonna be fine, boss.

JONATHAN: (distractedly) Hm? Oh, of— of course. 

[Tim brushes himself off, emotionally and physically. He goes to leave, but Jonathan stops him before he can close the door behind him.]

JONATHAN: Tim. 

TIM: (octaves higher than usual) Jon?

JONATHAN: Thank you. Truly. 

TIM: Course, boss. What are friends for, yeah?

JONATHAN: (hesitantly) I would also.. I’d like to— would… Would you come into my office at some point today? To… discuss work. Work matters. 

TIM: Right. Work. I’ll… see you then. 

[Tim leaves for real this time. Jonathan puts his head in his hands again, flopping down onto the cot with a groan.]

JONATHAN: (flustered) Fuck this job. 

[Cut to confessional of Tim. He’s staring at the camera in blatant shock. He glances between the break room door behind the camera and the lense.]

TIM: I’m sorry, was that real? Did I just hallucinate that? Is this allowed? 

[Tim presses his palms against his temples. He doesn’t say anything more, but blinks a few times. Camera cuts to Jonathan working at his desk, film through the blinds.]

[Jonathan is visibly tired and leaning over documents. He pauses, looking up at the door to the room. Reluctantly, he smiles. Scene ends.]

THE FOLLOWING FOOTAGE DEPICTS EVENTS PERTAINING TO CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS AND INFORMATION. NOT SUITABLE FOR AIRING. VIEWING BY UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

Episode 5, Scene N/A.

[Camera, now clear of grainy effects and analog format, opens on Jonathan finishing a statement’s notes.]

JONATHAN: (to the tape recorder) I believe some of the more bizarre things in artifact storage were purchased from him. He has somewhat of a knack for—

[A spider is crawling across one of the shelves beside Jonathan’s desk. A large, gorgeous, bulbous spider. He grimaces.]

JONATHAN: Eugh. Gross. (standing up, picking up a stapler) I see you…

[Jonathan smacks the stapler against the spider in a swift motion. The spider dies. The camera crackles, sound cutting out. The shelf has visibly collapsed where Jonathan swung.] 

[Sasha enters into the office. She says something, Jonathan responds. He looks surprised by himself, and whatever he says, it amuses Sasha. Another spider crawls beneath Jonathan’s desk.]

JONATHAN: (audio returning) …elf collapsed. 

SASHA: I swear, these cheap shelves are… (glancing at the collapsed shelf) Did you get it? 

JONATHAN: I do hope so. It was a nasty looking thing, bulbous and smug. Never thought a spider could look that full of itself.

SASHA: (snorting) Well, I won’t tell Martin.

JONATHAN: Appreciated. I think I’d rather give myself up to Prentiss rather than hear him go on about their importance to the ecosystem. 

[Sasha laughs, and then pauses. She pushes aside some of the broken shelf, revealing a hole in the wall behind it.]

JONATHAN: What is it? 

SASHA: Look.

JONATHAN: Oh, uh. Got dented when the shelf collapsed, I guess. It happens.

SASHA: No, no. It goes right through. I thought this was an exterior wall? 

[Jonathan raises an eyebrow. He politely gestures Sasha aside and takes a peek into the hole.]

JONATHAN: Let me see. (Looking inside)  It should be an exterior wall. I mean, I can’t say I have Tim’s knowledge of architecture, but I have a pretty strong inclination that this is—

SASHA: Yes, yes, you’re a genius and it’s definitely not just plasterboard. Now, do you see anything?

JONATHAN: Not really? Was I supposed to be looking for—

[There is a wet wriggling sound as worms begin to crawl out of the hole in the wall. One, two, five, thirty worms start to move out of the dark into the archives like a singular, thick ooze.]

JONATHAN: Sasha. Run. 

[Jonathan backs away in time for the worms to crash fully through the wall. He grabs Sasha’s hand and books it out of the office door. The worms begin to fill the office in a wave.]

JONATHAN: Run! ru—

[The camera is overwhelmed by the worms and shuts off. Scene ends.]

Chapter Text

DISCLAIMER: All footage recovered from this incident contains strictly confidential information. Only authorised personnel may view this footage. Cane Productions will not be held accountable for the consequences of unauthorized viewing.

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institute, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all.

Season 1, Episode 6: Infestation.

Episode 6, Scene 1

[Camera opens on the ground outside of the archives bullpen, clearly knocked over. Worms squirm around all over the room. Jonathan’s feet can be seen rapidly approaching. He grabs the camera, shaking off stray worms as he lifts it.]

SASHA’S VOICE: (distant) Jon! What are you doing?

JONATHAN: Just— I’ve got it! 

[Jonathan starts running with the camera. It’s tilted at a very unflattering angle from where it sits facing him in his hands.]

MARTIN: (offscreen) Guys, is everything— Oh, Christ! 

JONATHAN: Extinguishers! Get the extinguishers!

[There’s collective noises of affirmation offscreen, followed by sounds of loud slamming.]

JONATHAN: No— no, damn it! Spray them ! Why are you trying to crush them, you idiots? 

SASHA: (shouting) You need to specify these things, Jon! I can’t read your mind!

[Camera angle shifts as Jonathan tucks it under his arm to grab a CO2 extinguisher. Martin can be seen in the background spraying worms. He looks disheveled.]

MARTIN: There’s too many! 

SASHA: Yeah, that’s why we’re killing them! 

JONATHAN: We need to get out of here. But where? I—

[A new wave of worms starts pushing in, causing Jonathan and the archives staff to flee backwards again.]

SASHA: Damn!

JONATHAN:  Just— let me think!

[Martin grabs ahold of both Sasha and Jonathan’s arms and starts sprinting. Both look at him in abject shock, but Martin doesn’t sway.]

MARTIN: We don’t have time to think! This way! Come on!

JONATHAN: I— um, (with great alarm ) Look out!

[There is a crashing sound offscreen, and Jonathan drops the camera. Scene cuts.]

[Camera cuts back in on Jonathan screaming like a little bitch, filmed from the ground. Sasha holds a corkscrew, which she has embedded in Jonathan’s leg as she digs around with it. Martin is messing with the camera, clicking buttons and the sort.]

MARTIN: …And we’re back. Filming again. You got the worm out yet?

[Sasha digs deeper. Jonathan makes another pained groan until she swiftly pulls out the corkscrew, taking the now dead worm with it.]

SASHA: No, the worm’s in his other leg, actually. That part was for fun.

JONATHAN: You’re an arse. 

SASHA: I try. Truly. And I want to point out that I was not that much of a baby when this happened to me.

JONATHAN: When it happened to you, you got a clean removal. We are not the same. 

SASHA: (brandishing the corkscrew) Why’d you have this, anyway? Getting wasted in the institute without us?

MARTIN: No, that’s— uh… a different one. I would never open wine without a clean corkscrew to open it with. It’d be in poor taste.

JONATHAN: (shaking and actively sweating) So you are drinking in the archives?

MARTIN: It’s— that isn’t relevant. The corkscrew is for removing the worms. Seemed, uh, more efficient given their size and means of burrowing. 

[There is a long pause of silence. Sasha and Jonathan are staring at Martin, who goes a little red in the face.]

MARTIN: Ok, look. Not all of us get to go home and not think about getting eaten by worms, okay ? 

SASHA: You’ve really planned this, huh? That’s why we’re in here, yeah?

MARTIN: I worked in the library for years. You’ve got to have a knack for planning for things like this if you want to last there. 

JONATHAN: What kind of library position makes you have to plan for worm attacks?

SASHA: (curtly ) What kind of archival assistant job makes you have to plan for worm attacks? 

[Another beat of silence. Martin can’t stop himself from snorting.] 

JONATHAN: Fair enough.

SASHA: So. Jon. Are you stupid? 

JONATHAN: (visibly affronted) What? 

SASHA: The camera. Why bother recording this? You almost got yourself killed trying to grab it.

JONATHAN: I’m sorry, alright? I said that. I didn’t think it would be so—

SASHA: No! It’s— not that. You said it yourself, Jon. This documentary— film— whatever. It’s just… pointless, you know? You’ve been complaining about it since the camera crew came in.

JONATHAN: It is pointless! The archives is too full of confidential documents to ever be acceptable to air, our work is hardly engaging enough for studio audiences, and—

SASHA: Yes, I get it! So why the hell did you grab the camera?

[Jonathan mutters something too quiet to be heard. Sasha and Martin squint at him.]

MARTIN: Huh? Jon, you need to speak up. I can’t hear you over the worms. 

JONATHAN: (murmuring) …could… incident…

SASHA: Jon !

JONATHAN: (suddenly, shouting) Ok, I thought we could vlog the incident! Happy ?

[Everywhere falls silent for a few moments. The worms stop squirming, and Jane leans over to look through the tiny window in the door.]

JANE: (muffled) Good Lord, Archivist. Talk about cringe . 

[Unamused, Sasha slaps an old flyer over the window. Something about a fundraiser event.]

SASHA: Vlog ? That hardly seems like you.

MARTIN: It’s a nice idea! Really! 

JONATHAN: No, no. I— listen. Gertrude vanished. Puddle of blood and nothing else. The only semblance of a clue I have on her is that episode Maria from IT did on her true crime channel, for god’s sake. 

MARTIN: Wait, she’s still doing that? I thought she got a cease and—

[Sasha elbows Martin. Martin shuts up.]

JONATHAN: I don’t want to die like that, you know? Some deep point in a poorly rendered “Magnus Archives Iceberg”. If Prentiss is going to kill us, then god dammit we’re going to get famous off of this. 

 SASHA: (snorting) Maybe we could buy a better hiding spot with the ad revenue. 

JONATHAN: I wouldn’t hold your breath. Either way, I’m hoping my successor gets their hands on the film. Might dissuade them from taking this train wreck of a position.

SASHA: (with amusement, like there’s an inside joke only her and Jonathan are getting) Only an idiot? 

JONATHAN: (wry laugh) Only an idiot. 

[A beat. Silence, save for the worms, which started to movie again during the course of the conversation. Whatever moment the two had is past, and there is a looming dread.]

MARTIN: Uh, should I try checking the windows again?

JONATHAN: Oh— yes, sure. Can’t imagine it’s easy to see out of it, with the— the window being so dirty. 

MARTIN: Ugh. Don’t get me started. (straining to look) Guess Prentiss lost interest in us for now. She’s just wandering now.

SASHA: Fascinating. She has the object permanence of aunt’s fourteen year old dog, I think. 

MARTIN: No— I think… I think she’s waiting for something? Oh, hey, a tape recorder’s on the floor out there in the hall. Must’ve fallen out of a box in the chaos.

JONATHAN: Waiting? For what? 

MARTIN: (shrugging) Probably Tim. I don’t know. Not a mind reader, Jon. Especially not a worm mind reader.

JONATHAN: (insincere) My sincerest apologies for the assumption. 

SASHA: Oh, god. Tim. He went out to lunch, didn’t he? With Duchess?

JONATHAN: He took the dog to lunch?

SASHA: She has a name. Don’t be rude. 

[Cut to Sasha in confessional. She’s still in the storage room, and Jonathan is clearly visible behind her.]

SASHA: Jon likes to say he doesn’t like Duchess, but we all know he’s lying. 

JONATHAN: You know I’m right here.

SASHA: Hush. I walked into his office once and she was in his lap while he did paperwork. He’s like a grumpy dad with the dog he didn’t want.

[Cut back to the active threat of death. Jonathan and Martin are looking at Sasha with mild annoyance.]

JONATHAN: Are you quite finished?

SASHA: Oh, so you want to vlog a bioterrorism attack, but the moment I start filming it’s—

MARTIN: I see Tim holding Duchess! Guys! 

JONATHAN: Move! 

[Jonathan very bodily slams into Martin in an attempt to shove him away. His attempt is in vain, and he just about falls over in the recoil. He also immediately yelps in pain considering there is a gaping, bleeding hole in his leg. Martin still steps aside reluctantly and helps to hold Jonathan up. Both are relatively embarrassed by the chain of events, but Jonathan apparently has priorities.]

JONATHAN: (peering through the window) She’s okay, thank goodness. See, Tim’s technique is all wrong. Duchess needs to be held more carefully, like the lady she is. He’s manhandling her!

SASHA: I’m sorry, can we please focus on the fact that there are killer worms outside ready to eat both of them? 

JONATHAN: (embarrassed) …Right, right. I don’t think he’s noticed them yet. 

SASHA: That idiot ! How has he not noticed? (smushing her face up against the door) Tim! Tim, run! Run, Tim, you sexy idiot!

[Jonathan scowls and smacks the back of Sasha’s head. Sasha looks betrayed.]

JONATHAN: Can you act normal for two minutes ? He can’t even hear you, Sasha. 

MARTIN: God, this really is a horror film. 

JONATHAN: (looking back at the window) Oh, for the love of— He’s going for the tape recorder. 

SASHA: Ohh, I can’t watch!

JONATHAN: Sasha. Don’t you dare—

[Sasha shoves Jon and Martin aside and swings the door open. She runs out as Tim speaks into the tape, frantically waving her arms in an attempt to scare off any worms. Cut to second camera, on the floor of the archives hallway. Tim walks into view. He’s wearing a full tux, for some inexplicable reason.]

TIM: Ooh, shiny object! Why don’t we take a looksie here, Duchess?

[Tim sets down Duchess, who cheerfully sits beside him as if she has never had a thought in her life.]

TIM: (into recorder) Oooh, spooky. Yeah this is, uh, statement of evil fucked up Jon regarding sinister happenings at Hilltop—

SASHA: (running like a maniac towards Tim) Tim! Tim! Look out! 

[Tim looks up in bewilderment.]

TIM: Sasha, what are you— holy shit that’s a lot of worms! What the hell h—

SASHA: No time! We need to go! Get down, Mrs. President! 

[Sasha borderline tackles Duchess and holds onto her, just in time for a wave of worms to come through the hallway between Tim and Sasha. Sasha looks bewildered, almost as though getting separated from Tim wasn’t a part of her plan. A wave of worms hits the camera, cutting off footage. Cut back to document storage.]

Episode 6, Scene 2.

MARTIN: Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

JONATHAN: What? What happened? Are they alright?

MARTIN: I don’t— I don’t know, she did the Mr. President tackle, there was another wave of worms, and I can’t see them anymore. So they’re dead. 

JONATHAN: That’s kind of a presumptuous  thing to—

MARTIN: (about to cry, probably) Ohhhh, Jon… They’re all dead and we’re going to die next!

JONATHAN: Martin! Come on, pull yourself together, will you? We don’t know that they’re dead. I would hardly be surprised if it turned out the Duchess has been eating the damn creatures the whole time. 

MARTIN: You’re— you’re right. (taking a deep breath) You’re right. Maybe they’re fine. You’re right.

JONATHAN: I tend to be.

[Long pause of silence. Jonathan looks relatively sheepish.]

JONATHAN: …Yeah, not the time, I suppose. Apologies.

[Long silence again.]

MARTIN: …Maybe Tim found the spare CO2 extinguishers I left in your office.

JONATHAN: What? I didn’t see any CO2 extinguishers?

MARTIN: No, no, I uh— I hid them in your filing cabinets. So the worms wouldn’t find them. 

JONATHAN: … I see. 

MARTIN: I know it’s stupid, alright! The worms clearly sense based on vibrations, so they wouldn’t find them even if I put them in a box, but they’re scheming buggers, so I thought—

JONATHAN: The worms don’t think, Martin! They don’t think, they don’t look, and they sure as hell don’t plan! (unsure, shaking slightly) They’re— they’re just a result of an admittedly aggressive parasitic infection, and—

MARTIN: (with rising annoyance) Oh my God, Jon! You always do this, you arsehole!

JONATHAN: I’m not doing anything! 

MARTIN:  You're always dismissing statements! Was it me or you who told the other to get out of his office when he questioned dismissing the Vittery statement?

JONATHAN: Well, clearly, dismissing it would’ve been the right thing to do, because now we’ve agitated (gesturing outside) that!

MARTIN: (genuinely hurt) That’s not fair. 

JONATHAN: You’re right. I’m… I’m sorry.

 MARTIN: We are in the storage room at our job because a hivemind of worms led by a poser witch was hiding in our walls for weeks, and just now decided it was time to eat us all alive. And you’re sitting here blaming a parasite?  

JONATHAN: Because contrary to what is apparently an unpopular belief in this department, the supernatural is terrifying, okay? Of course I believe in the supernatural! What kind of obtuse moron would work here and not believe that? A visit to Artifact Storage, or— or IT is already enough to convince someone on its own!  

MARTIN: Then why are you—

JONATHAN: Haven’t you ever heard of a bit , Martin? Everyone needs to have their niche! If I don’t fill the skeptic role, who will? This whole production would be doomed. 

MARTIN: What? Jon, I think the documentary is getting to your h—

JONATHAN: (interrupting him) Don’t interrupt me. Listen, Martin. Do you think I’m working this job for fun? No, some of us need closure because we didn’t get parapsychology degrees. I just— I thought if I pretended none of it was there, maybe. It wouldn’t notice me either. 

MARTIN: It?

JONATHAN: (a little warily) You… you know? The horrors? 

[Outside there’s the sound of worms loudly and obnoxiously squirming. Martin grimaces.]

MARTIN: Lot of good that technique did. 

JONATHAN: I thought we weren’t victim blaming. 

MARTIN: You’re right. I’m, uh. Sorry. 

[Long, extended silence. Martin is vigilantly watching the window. Jonathan slumps against a filing cabinet with a hastily bandaged leg.]

JONATHAN: Why are you here, Martin?

MARTIN: (immediately) You haven’t said anything quite bad enough to make me want to take my chances with the worms.

JONATHAN: No, no, not right now! I mean, in general. I mean, these are hardly ideal working conditions what with the deadly stalkers and horrible deaths and late nights. Why haven’t you quit? 

MARTIN: I thought about it, honestly. Even typed up a few resignation letters. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I mean, have you seen the institute’s insurance and leave policies? There’s no way I could afford to quit with those kinds of benefits on the line here. 

[Martin glances away, scratching at his arm a bit.]

MARTIN: Plus, uh. I guess it just feels like the more I try to pull away, the more I’m… stuck here. You know? Like I can never really get out for good.

[The expression on Jonathan’s face is sympathetic and contemplative. For a few moments. Until he opens his mouth.]

JONATHAN: (carefully) Martin, you didn’t… You didn’t die here, did you?

MARTIN: What? No! I’m talking in metaphors, Jon! I’m not a ghost! 

JONATHAN: Right, right. Of course not. It’s just, the way you phrased that—

MARTIN: I’m not. And for the record, I’m also not over twenty thousand spiders masquerading as one person, okay?

[Longer awkward silence than usual. Jonathan is openly staring at Martin in bewilderment. He tries and fails to formulate words approximately six times.]

JONATHAN: …Right? I didn’t think you were? 

MARTIN: Oh. Alright. Yeah, yeah, of course.

[Camera cuts to confessional of Martin for some reason. He’s in the stacks away from Jonathan.]

MARTIN: (sighing) Wow, that was close. It’s good I managed to cover up so smoothly. 

[Scene ends.]

Episode 6, Scene 3.

[Scene opens on camera following Elias, Sasha, and Duchess. Elias is holding Duchess like a toddler.]

ELIAS: Now, what exactly is going on here, Sasha? 

MICHAEL: (following, even though nobody invited him) The Hive has made its move on your institute. Isn’t that obvious? 

[Elias nods, and then does a double take to look back at The Distortion. There is complete silence, and everyone stops speed-walking.]

ELIAS: Michael.

MICHAEL: Elias! 

ELIAS: (pinching the bridge of his nose) Go home. 

MICHAEL: (genuinely hurt ) Oh.

ELIAS: Allowing you to continue to work here is one thing, but you’re just being desperate now. This isn’t even your story arc, honestly. 

MICHAEL: (sniffling) I see. Well, it seems one can tell when they aren’t wanted.

SASHA: Oh, come on, Michael! He didn’t mean it like that! He’s just—

ELIAS: No, I did. I meant it. Don’t put words in my mouth, Ms. James.

[The Distortion makes a pouting face at Elias and Sasha with the expression of a child who’s been told he’s getting only socks for Christmas.]

SASHA: It’s okay, Michael. Maybe we can chat later? 

MICHAEL: No, no! I’ll just… go. 

[The camera buzzes as The Distortion opens a door in the middle of the hallway and walks through, slamming it behind him. Elias and Sasha continue trekking across the institute.]

SASHA: Elias—

ELIAS: He’ll be fine, Ms. James. Some hurt feelings never killed anybody. Isn’t that right, fair lady Duchess?

[Duchess gives Elias a side eye and a grunt of pure discontent. She makes no move to leave Elias’s grasp though, as he is still petting her.]

SASHA: I was actually going to ask why we had to bring a tape recorder with us. 

ELIAS: I thought Jon might want multiple perspectives for his vlog, I suppose. For the record’s sake.

SASHA: How did you even know about the— not important. Listen, for the record , if we don’t do something about the worms, the records won’t matter, because we’ll all be dead!

ELIAS: Don’t worry, we’ll just need to trigger the fire suppression system. CO2 ought to take good care of the worms, if the information your department found is correct. Good job pulling that fire alarm, for that matter. Got everyone else out. 

SASHA: And the fire suppression isn’t triggered already… why?

ELIAS: Try to think logically about this, Ms. James. Could you imagine if we pumped CO2 into the institute whenever the fire alarm got pulled? I’d have to hire a new IT department every other week! 

SASHA: Right, that makes sen—

ELIAS: Because they’d all die.

SASHA: Yeah, I get it. CO2 is bad—

ELIAS: From the lack of oxygen. 

SASHA: I think I get the idea, Elias. You can st—

ELIAS: I mean, seriously. They pull that lever so often, I think the fire department blacklisted the institute from getting help. 

SASHA: …Right.

[Elias audibly continues talking about IT as they walk further away, presumably to the fire suppression controls. Sasha looks uncomfortable. Scene ends.]

Episode 6, Scene 4.

[Camera opens on document storage, propped up once again. Jonathan and Martin are screaming. There’s a fire alarm in the background, and an audible thumping at the wall.]

MARTIN: (freaking out) I thought you said that wall was solid?

[The thumping intensifies to a fever pitch, and Martin gives Jonathan a dirty look.]

JONATHAN: (also freaking out) I say a lot of things, Martin! Is it a crime to talk? 

MARTIN: It is when you’re wrong???

JONATHAN: Well, arguing about who said what won’t help us now! Grab— I don’t know— a weapon or something! 

MARTIN: All I have is a spare corkscrew, I’ll be honest. 

JONATHAN: (slightly hysterical) Oh, that’s just lovely. We’ll just poke them one by one! What happened to being prepared like you said earlier? 

MARTIN: I don’t know, okay? I wasn’t exactly thinking I’d even try to fight them! 

[Camera quickly turns to the wall, which is starting to cave in.]

JONATHAN: Well, this is it, then. If it’s worth anything, Martin… you quite honestly had more of a spine then I thought you did. Sometimes.

MARTIN: (tentative) Thanks..? I think?

[Martin and Jonathan prepare for the sweet release of death. Enter Tim, who has just come into the room through the whole he’s just made in the wall. He’s breaking the wall with a large, cement-filled jar in one hand and clutching a CO2 extinguisher in the other. He is wearing a cropped tank top about fish and anger management.]

TIM: Hey, guys! 

[Camera pans back over to Jonathan and Martin. Both are very blatantly staring at Tim’s shirt.]

JONATHAN: When on earth did you have time to change into the fish shirt?

MARTIN:   Tim! You’re alive!

TIM: Huh? Oh, yeah. See, Sash really saved my arse with the Mr. President tackle.

MARTIN: Classic move.

TIM: Well, we got split up after that because she tried to do a sick cartwheel while we were running, so I ran into the office. Turns out, bunch of CO2 canisters were hidden in the box I keep my spare clothes in! 

JONATHAN: …Ignoring that you keep clothes in boxes in the office… it’s— ah, good to see you alive. Are you… (looking Tim up and down) … alright, though?

TIM: Yeah, yeah! Just a little lightheaded, you know. What with the CO2 and the tunnels not having much for ventilation. Follow me, I’ll show you!

[Martin and Jonathan simultaneously go on alert as Tim starts careening back into the hole. Martin grabs onto Tim’s arm to stop him.]

MARTIN: Woah, woah, woah.Hold on a second. Tunnels? 

TIM: Yeah, I think Prentiss is training some super soldiers down there. Hardly any worms, but the ones that are there are faster and way meaner. Brought up insecurities I didn’t even know I had. Do I have weird elbows, guys? 

JONATHAN: No, your elbows are fine. (with concern) You’re not bitten, are you?

TIM: What? No, no, I’m fine! Look! 

[Camera pans away frantically as Tim starts to take his shirt off. Martin sputters audibly.] 

JONATHAN’S VOICE: (mildly exasperated) Yes, alright, you look fine. Put your clothes back on, you heathen. 

[Beat. Awkward silence. Camera pans back to a fully-clothed Tim, albeit a slightly more ruffled one, whose bra strap is visible under his shirt. He stands expectantly.]

TIM: Cool, cool, cool, cool. So… spooky tunnels? 

MARTIN: (reluctant) Spooky tunnels. Can you walk, Jon? 

JONATHAN: …In a sense of the word. 

MARTIN: So that’s a no, then. Hold on, I’ll just, uh…

[Very carefully, Jonathan is boosted up by Martin until the former is using Martin as a makeshift crutch.]

MARTIN: Right. 

TIM: Lovely! Let’s go, then!

[They follow Tim into the tunnels, albeit at a very slow pace. Lighting dims as they enter. Camera enters night-vision mode.]

TIM: Heathen? Honestly, Jon. You wound me. Thought we were supposed to be bros for life. 

JONATHAN: (mildly distracted) Sure, sure. Bras for life. If you’re going to act a fool, Tim—

MARTIN: Hold on. I’m sorry, did you just say bras?

JONATHAN: (suspiciously quickly) No. You heard wrong. I said bros. 

MARTIN: I mean, if you’re sure… I could’ve sworn you said—

JONATHAN: I was not saying bras, Martin!

[A little taken aback, Martin backs off. They continue walking in relative silence.] 

MARTIN: You know, Tim. For what it’s worth, I was really glad to see you alright. 

TIM: Aww, Marto! 

MARTIN: Seriously! I don’t think I could, uh. I don’t think I could— if one of us… you know . 

TIM: Well, no need to worry about me, Marto. I think I might be immortal. Or god. 

JONATHAN: I... don’t think those are mutually exclusive? 

TIM: Eh. Whatever. That’s your opinion.

JONATHAN: That’s—

MARTIN: Uh, not to interrupt what I’m sure is going to be a riveting theological debate, but, uh. How much battery is on that camera?

JONATHAN: Your guess is as good as mine. I haven’t really checked in a while.

MARTIN: Can’t you just see what the little battery symbol looks like?

[All three stop walking and move to check the camera in Jonathan’s hands.] 

MARTIN: Oh. It’s dead. 

JONATHAN: What? I could’ve sworn the damned thing was almost full when I grabbed it. 

TIM: Sounds like my phone battery. 

MARTIN: If the camera’s dead, doesn’t that mean none of this is on record? The worms— Sasha’s tackle— all of it?

JONATHAN: We don’t know that. It’s entirely possibly the camera just recently died. Besides, I have that tape recorder we found in document storage. We can always use that.

MARTIN: Yeah, but I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t need it, because— wait. (glancing around) Hold on. Do you see that?

JONATHAN: What? What is it? 

MARTIN: I didn’t think anything of it before, but.. the red light. It’s still going. If our camera died, then what’s that light coming from?

JONATHAN: Huh. So it is. You’d think we’d, ah, notice that? 

TIM: I mean, the red light is probably coming from that camera over there, yeah? 

MARTIN, JONATHAN: (in unison) From the what?

[Tim points at the camera. Jonathan and Martin’s head whip over to look at it. Camera zooms in on their expressions of disbelief.]

TIM: I assumed we were all just ignoring it, to be honest. It was kind of blatant. 

[Martin starts over towards the camera, stepping up and putting his face up close to the lense, blocking the rest of the screen.]

MARTIN: Where the hell did this come from? Let me—

[View shifts, Martin turns the camera around to see the screen.]

MARTIN: Wait, the battery symbol is empty on this as w—

[Scene ends.]

Episode 6, Scene 5.

[Scene opens on Artifact Storage, clearly being recorded on somebody’s phone.]

SASHA’S VOICE: Uh… what’s up guys. Welcome back to my bioterrorism vlog. In today’s video I’m— fuck, Jon. I can’t do that shit. 

[Camera flips to be in selfie mode. Sasha is disheveled and nervous.]

SASHA: I ditched Elias to hide in Artifact Storage. That’s how bad it is. He just kept going on about insurance plans and fire alarms and I think I fled as a survival instinct. He still has Duchess, which is— uh. Not great, but I don’t think even he would just let her die. He was holding her like a beloved child, so… hopefully they’re almost to the fire alarm. 

[Sasha stumbles, bumping into something on the floor.]

SASHA: Oh, God damn it. See, this is why I hate Artifact Storage, Jon. Would it kill them to pick up their things? I mean, who leaves an entire toaster on the ground? Who does that?

[Dead silence, as Sasha continues walking. She eventually continues, unsure.]

SASHA: I mean, there’s also the horrifying things they keep in here. Like that pillow that always loses its pillowcase every night. Downright evil, if you ask me. Or the— the, uh. The pencil that makes horrible, loud screeching noises every time you pick it up. I honestly think that might be the worst thing we’ll ever have in here.

PLACEHOLDER; CHARACTER NOT RECOGNIZED: Never say ever! 

SASHA: Shit! Who said that? Don’t play games with me, kid. I have a bloody corkscrew and I’m not afraid to use it. 

[Dissonant laughter, completely different to The Distortion’s. Sasha’s phone begins to buzz.]

SASHA: You're not funny! Come on, I see you! 

PLACEHOLDER; CHARACTER NOT RECOGNIZED: I see you! 

[Look of dawning horror on Sasha’s face. She drops her phone. Camera cuts off just as the buzzing rises to a fever pitch, and a figure is barely visible on the edge of the screen.] 

Episode 6, Scene 6. 

[The following transcript has been recovered from tape recordings. Dialogue may have discrepancies or errors. Thank you for your understanding.]

JONATHAN: (wearily) We should’ve stayed in document storage.

TIM: I know, I know. C’mon, mate. We’re almost there. 

JONATHAN: We would’ve never lost Martin, and—

TIM: (audibly exhausted) We’ll find him, Jon. Let’s focus on getting out first, yeah? I don’t think you’re finding anyone with your leg like that. 

JONATHAN: You’re… you’re right. I just feel like I should be keeping a record of this. In case we, uh, you know…

TIM: Don’t you still have the tape recorder Marto gave you? Just pull that out to film us dying horribly.

JONATHAN: Tim! What happened to getting out?

TIM: Joking, joking! Still. 

JONATHAN: No, you’re right. Can we stop for a second?

[Sounds of fabric rustling. Jonathan digs through his pocket.]

JONATHAN: Here we are.

TIM: Damn, you fit that whole thing in your pockets? 

JONATHAN: Don’t worry about it. Huh. It’s already filming. Must’ve accidentally pressed the button. 

TIM: Might wanna keep it off until we actually find something. Would suck if it ran out of film before we got out. 

JONATHAN: Right, right.

[Audio cuts. Next fragment.]

JONATHAN: Update. We, uh. We lost Martin. Turns out Tim was right about those worms being faster and more aggressive. Not sure what he meant about the insults, though. Tim was with me, and Martin apparently decided to run ahead like some kind of numbskull , must not have realized we were b—

TIM: Jon! A trapdoor! 

JONATHAN: What? Oh, thank God. Tim’s just found an actual trapdoor. It might be our way out.

TIM: Or it might lead us to someone’s creepy murder basement. Do you think you’ll be able to get up the ladder, Jon?

JONATHAN: (strained) I’ll manage. Do you want to do the honors? 

TIM: Yep. (opening the trapdoor) You know, it would suck if we opened this and Prentiss was just sitting on the other side to kill us.

[Sounds of the trapdoor opening, followed by loud writhing and squelching.]

JANE: (cheerfully) Hey, bitch. 

TIM: Ah.

ARCHIVIST: Shit. 

[Episode Ends]

This season of The Archives has been sponsored by the Fairchild Aerospace Corporation. Pioneers of the sky, the FAC is a longtime supporter of the institute, allowing the organization to continue its preservation of historic documents for the unusual and esoteric. Cane Productions and The Magnus Institute extend their thanks to the Fairchild Aerospace Corporation for their continued support, and to viewers like you. 

Chapter Text

The Magnus Archives is an office documentary distributed by The Magnus Institute, directed by Annabelle Cane and produced by Elias Bouchard under no license at all.

Intermission: Workplace Relations 

FOOTAGE RECOVERED FROM CUT SCENES. MAY NOT ALIGN WITH CHRONOLOGICAL EVENTS. 

Scene 1.

[Scene opens on Jonathan’s office door. There’s muffled talking inside, and the camera slowly pans over to Sasha and Martin, who frantically attempt to pretend they aren’t interested. After a few moments, they simultaneously cave. Martin puts his head down and groans. Sasha looks at the camera and loudly sighs.]

SASHA: It’s an individual meeting. Jon and Tim’ve been having them at least twice a week for about 3 weeks or so now. Little bit after Melanie King broke Jon’s nose… (a little spitefully, she huffs) They're probably just doing it so they can snog.

MARTIN: Sasha , we’ve been over this! 

SASHA: Martin, come on. You know–

MARTIN: Listen, Sasha. It’s so obvious that they’d be doing that! So obvious, in fact, that there’s no way it’s actually true. They’re just talking about budgeting or something.

SASHA: No, you listen . Just think about it. Stoic, standoffish Jonathan Sims secretly has a soft side, only in the secrecy of his creepy Victorian office… and he meets Timothy Stoker, the handsome, devili—

MARTIN: Do not make up bad fanfiction about our co-workers right in front of me. Please, Sasha, I can’t take it.

SASHA: Co-workers? I kind of thought we were like one big dysfunctional family, K-Mart! 

MARTIN: No, I— (flustered) I mean, I guess you are kind of like— no, I—

[Sasha laughs and elbows Martin. He looks equal parts bashful and resentful.]

SASHA: I’m goofing around, Martin. Don’t worry about it, okay? Still, you have to listen to my vision here. Michael, will you come pull down that projector?

[Enter Michael, from a door that wasn’t there prior. Camera crackles, then shuts off entirely. Scene reopens on a more analog camcorder, with a large projector screen displaying a PowerPoint. Martin is looking at The Distortion in mild horror. It grins back.]

MARTIN: The projector, it— I… what? How did you— your arms bended...?

SASHA: What did I just say? Don’t worry too much about it, Martin. Please. Compose yourself. I have a presentation to give. Thank you for the help, Michael.

MICHAEL: (craning his neck, then titling his head and smiling semi-pleasantly at Sasha)  Think nothing of it, Sasha James. 

[Comedically timed assistance fulfilled, Michael shifts to his desk. He begins to slowly and meticulously type, one key at a time. A camera zoom shows that he’s typing gibberish into an empty document.]

SASHA: Right. Now, I’m sure you're wondering what this is about.

MARTIN: (warily) Would it happen to have anything to do with the hypothetical relationship you’ve decided Jon and Tim have?

SASHA: Not hypothetical. Real . Observe.

[PowerPoint begins, titled “THE TIM/JON SECRET GOSSIP GOSPEL”. The very next slide is a stock image of an elderly gay couple holding each other, but with Jonathan and Tim’s faces photoshopped on.]

SASHA: First off. Have you seen those two? The way they interact? They’re like one of those couples in their 80s that hate each other.

MARTIN: (unusually focused) … I see , I see. And have we considered.. They’ve just been friends for a long time? And that’s how Jon is with friends?

SASHA: See, I thought you’d say that.

[Next slide. It’s a quote, from Martin, reading ‘ I see, I see. And have we considered.. they've just been friends for a long time? And that’s how Jon is with friends? ’ Sasha is smug.]

MARTIN: Oh.

SASHA: Exactly. Here’s the problem with your assessment. You know who else has been friends with those two for years? Don’t be afraid to shout it out!

MARTIN: (with great reluctance) …You. 

SASHA: Precisely. If the length of their friendship was the sole factor here, then logically, wouldn’t I be just as suspiciously romantic with them?

MARTIN: I mean… you already are? Are we, um, working in the same archive here? 

SASHA: (vaguely flabbergasted silence) 

MARTIN: I don’t mean to, uh. Presume, but… I mean… didn’t you squeal like an anime girl and go ‘kyaaa! Is this… an indirect kiss?!’ when Tim handed you his water bottle last week?

SASHA: (offended) It was satire, Martin! A bit! Haven’t you ever heard of a bit?

MARTIN: ..And now you’re emulating Jon’s manner of speech. Do you see where I’m going with this?

SASHA: All I see is you trying to derail my PowerPoint. Whatever. This whole bit wasn’t even relevant. Next slide.

[The next PowerPoint slide is various blurry photos. One is Tim, looking dazed and covered in ink fingerprints all over his face and neck. The second is a statement with a few similar fingerprints, and the third is barely coherent, but seems to depict Jonathan, holding a paper gingerly with ink-stained hands and a visibly broken pen.]

SASHA: The next evidence I will submit to the courts. Whatever the hell happened here.

MARTIN: Huh.

SASHA: What kind of madman would you be to admit that isn’t damning? The way it all lines up, the adorable implications. 

MARTIN: Tim breaks his pens all the time! That could’ve easily been his own fingerprints!

SASHA: Tsk. Denial. Just keep it in mind. Next slide. 

[The next slide is an image of Jonathan’s phone opened to the contacts page. Tim’s contact of office slut is emphasized with a red circle and arrow.]

SASHA: It would be criminal if I deigned to withhold this incident from the investigation. That’s damning. I looked through Jon’s phone last week—

MARTIN: You did what?

SASHA: Hush. I’m still talking here. I looked through Jon’s phone last week, and it’s still the same thing. I mean, he changed your name from general nuisance back to Martin after I caught that, and yet… office slut remains. Don’t you think that means something?

MARTIN: And we’re going to brush past all of the blatant breaches of privacy you did here?

SASHA: I expect you to do so, yes. 

MARTIN: Then… that is kind of suspicious, I suppose.. Still. You keep trying to prove it, but that’s only showing me more that assuming they’re together would be too obvious of an answer!

SASHA: Oh, well what about— (thinking) If you consider that—

[For approximately 15 seconds the gears in Sasha’s usually intelligent brain turn. With no luck, she sighs and gives up completely. She tugs on the string and the projector screen rolls back up into the ceiling, where it never existed in the first place.]

SASHA: Fine, I don’t know! I just want to find out what those stupid meetings are about! 

MARTIN: (with vague resentment) Knowing Jon, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were fixing my shoddy reports…

SASHA: Don’t be ridiculous. I think Jon would sooner shake hands with a lit candle than ask anyone he knows for help. If anything, he’d loudly complain about the bloody reports until one of us did something. Maybe they’re just talking about budgeting. Or something.

MARTIN: …Or something. Huh. Sounds like a mystery. 

SASHA: Knowing those two? It’s at least three.

MARTIN: I think we could figure it out, you know.  Maybe we… should discuss it in our own, uh… individual meeting . 

SASHA: (astounded) Martin Blackwood! Are you suggesting what I think you are? A meeting?

MARTIN: (uncharacteristically coy) I mean, I wouldn’t know anything about— about what you're thinking. I just think this is quite the… puzzle. We should really get to the bottom of it. 

SASHA: (with increasing interest) …You know, you’re onto something here. This is important, right? 

MARTIN: Right.

SASHA: It might take us hours in the meetings to figure out. We’d need to eat, of course, so we ought to just meet right at a restaurant or the like. 

MARTIN: Exactly.

SASHA: Of course, we can’t just go off doing these meetings during work hours. Think of our workload! The integrity of professional etiquette! 

MARTIN: Of course! I suppose we’re— we’d need to meet in the evening. Like seven-o-clock.

SASHA: Ehh… 6:30 might be a more... productive time. For us. 

[Jonathan’s office door opens. Tim exits, ruffled and dazed. Sasha and Martin swap glances.]

MARTIN: Message you?

SASHA: Of course. (turning to Tim) How’d the meeting go? You look… disheveled?

TIM: You should see the other guy. 

[Tim looks at the camera with a knowing look. Cut to confessional.]

Scene 2.

TIM: The meetings aren’t about anything. We’ve been doing it to fuck with them. Ink stains, ruffled hair, everything. It was a little hard to get Jon into it, but I think the bit of silliness is really helping him destress. 

[Scene cuts to Jonathan’s office. Jonathan and Tim sit while Jonathan does paperwork. Tim seems to be genuinely focused on a work topic, for once.]

TIM: — And I think if we consider the circumstances in which the statement giver left the tunnels, I think it’s relatively understandable that the police aren’t exactly… talkative about it? I mean, I think Sasha definitely did a damned good job at trying to get it out of them, but I think if we could get our hands on some blueprints—

JONATHAN: And your interest in the statement has nothing to do with your favorite architect being involved?

TIM: What? No, no. I just think it’s important we examine all of our avenues with follow-up. Can we even call ourselves professionals if we don’t give it our best effort?

JONATHAN: Our best effort on what was very likely a gas leak induced delusion. 

TIM: Yep. 

JONATHAN: …I see. (Checking his time)

Well, I think that’s where we call it time for our meeting today.

TIM: (snorting) You sound like this is a therapy session. 

[Jonathan gives Tim an unamused look. Tim laughs a little sheepishly, then stands to leave.]

JONATHAN: Are you forgetting something?

TIM: Oh! Right. Sorry bout’ that, boss.

[Tim ruffles up his hair and fiddles with the collar of his shirt. Then, he mock salutes Jonathan and stumbles out the door. Cut to confessional of Jonathan.]

JONATHAN: Right. I will admit, after my… brief struggle after we found Prentiss’s statement, Tim came to my office and we talked. Was it the best use of company time? No. Were the pranks thereafter slightly crude? Perhaps. But, I hardly think this is hardly the big affair some of the people in this archive make it. We talk about work . Nothing more.

[Jonathan’s voice-over continues over footage of the Archives employees leaving the office. Tim and Jonathan walk side-by-side after saying their goodbyes to Sasha and Martin, who’re going the other way on the street.]

JONATHAN: There seems to be this phenomenon in the world these days where people decide others’ personal lives have to become this spectacle to everyone else.

[Jonathan and Tim say something to each other, laugh, and bump elbows. When the camera pans back over to Martin and Sasha, their arms are interlocked.]

JONATHAN: I think some people tend to consider the world far more romantic than they ought to. Besides, our personal lives are hardly the business of a camera crew, or— or of two frankly ridiculous employees. 

[Scene cuts. Open in a moderately cozy diner, where Sasha and Martin both sit with a multitude of papers set out in front of them. They apparently weren’t lying about the meeting.]

MARTIN: (brooding) … Have we considered alien abductions? Could be involved?

SASHA: I like the way you think, K-Mart. Maybe they’re both infected with alien parasites from another planet, and their parasites are communicating their plans to invade. 

MARTIN: That would explain a lot. 

SASHA: (with new clarity) Ok, would it really, though? This is a bit of a stretch, even for us . 

MARTIN: Honestly, I thought you didn’t even believe in the supernatural?

SASHA: I don’t believe in ghosts. Or Bigfoot. Or polar bears. Those weird folklore creatures. They’re too ridiculous. I just don’t buy it. Aliens, though? It’d be weirder if they weren’t real. 

MARTIN: Wait. But aren’t polar bears an actual—

SASHA: Is it a crime to be a skeptic, Martin? This is a sad, restrictive world for a woman with a free mind.  

MARTIN: So if we went to a zoo, and I showed you a polar bear—

SASHA: I know practical effects when I see them. I’m not so easily fooled. 

[Martin blinks a few times at Sasha. He sighs and rests his chin in his hand.]

MARTIN: No, no. Of course not. You’re one of a kind like that. 

SASHA: (smiling) And don’t you forget that, K-Mart. 

Intermission ends. 

EDITOR’S NOTE: Upon review of the script, our team has found that an individual has been falsely labeled as “SASHA” in the text. Nobody named Sasha and matching this person’s appearance has ever worked at the Magnus Institute, let alone in the archives. Cane Productions wishes to stress that Sasha James does not appear at any point in this episode.  We apologize for the error, and will be working tirelessly to correct this mistake. Thank you for your understanding. 

Chapter Text

Archives Season 1 Special: Director’s Interview

This Archives Special was not filmed in front of a live studio audience. All cheering and external voices heard have been completely fabricated. Cane Productions will not be held responsible for any malicious live studio audiences that may enter a viewer’s house at any point. If you think you may have heard a live studio audience, you are likely beyond saving. Thank you for your understanding. 

[The camera opens in a pristine, empty room. Presumably a conference room turned interview studio. A lithe, tall young woman is sitting in a director’s chair and smiling a little eerily. Her skin is a cool dark tone, and she has closely cropped bleach-blonde hair and a weird looking hat. With a pretentious artsy beret on top. Introduction graphic appears on screen reading ANNABELLE CANE: DIRECTOR AT LARGE.]

ANNABELLE: Hello, victims and perpetrators!

[Canned applause plays. Annabelle’s grin widens.]

ANNABELLE: Now, as we all may be aware, today’s programming is going to be quite different from the original. That’s because we at Cane Productions wanted to hear from you! 

[Annabelle leans into the camera as if telling a secret. Her smile is full of mischief.]

ANNABELLE: Of course, I can’t promise all of our answers will ring true. That’s just show business. Robbie, bring out the box!

[A spider skitters across the desk beside Annabelle. Cue prerecorded applause. Title card pops up, reading ‘ROBBIE: CAMERA BUTTON OPERATOR’]

ANNABELLE: Robbie’s actually quite an indispensable part of the team here on the production staff of The Archives. He’s typically tasked with making sure the cameras turn on at the right times, in the right places. A real go-getter, if you ask us.

[The spider, presumably Robbie, returns with a box atop of it. The box is roughly half the size of a shoe box, and there’s no reasonable way Robbie should have been able to carry it. Annabelle takes the box from the fully intact Robbie regardless.]

ANNABELLE: Right. This is our question box. I had the social media team compile all of the most burning questions from our viewers. Well. Barring those that would get the show cancelled or ruin the suspense of things. 

[Annabelle sticks her hand in the box to grab a question. Her hand comes out covered in webbing, but she’s holding an equally gross slip of paper. She wipes it off and squints.]

ANNABELLE: Let’s start with the most common question we’ve received. “Ms. Cane, what gave you the idea to start the documentary?”

[Annabelle throws the paper behind her and laughs a bit.]

ANNABELLE: What a fascinating question? In terms of what gave me the idea… isn’t it such an interesting notion to wonder? Maybe it was out of the blue. Every little event in my life contributes to the growing, subconscious idea. Maybe I just saw how intricately fascinating the mundane can be and just had a burning desire to replicate it in my own unique way, to fine tune every little detail until it followed the exact storyline I needed. In a world where the very concept of an original idea has been so detached and disfigured, who can really say if—

[Annabelle pauses, talking to someone off-screen. She winces for just a moment, and then smiles at the camera again.]

ANNABELLE: Sorry, friends. It seems our publicity manager is telling me to lay off the free will monologue. Real talk, though. Mr. Bouchard actually reached out to me first with the proposition! 

[A door opens behind Annabelle, as if the newcomer had been waiting for that line. Enter Elias. Prerecorded cheering and clapping plays. He’s dressed nicer than usual, and waves at the camera pleasantly.]

ANNABELLE: Speak of the Devil, the one and only Elias Bouchard!

ELIAS: Please, please, you flatter me, Ms. Cane. 

ANNABELLE: Oh, so formal!

ELIAS: Just habit, Annabel—

ANNABELLE: Ms. Cane will do just fine. Now, Elias— or, Jonah? Can I call you Jonah?

[Elias raises an eyebrow. His expression is one of mild discomfort, but he smiles a little tensely anyways.]

ELIAS: I’m not really sure it would be—

ANNABELLE: Great. Now, Jonah, I was just telling our viewers about how the show was conceived! I was just about to give them the full scoop.

JONAH: Lovely, I… must we really change the name in the script? 

ANNABELLE: I’m not sure what you mean, Jonah. 

JONAH: ..Right. Well. It was actually quite interesting. See, I had recently acquired Ms. Cane’s information from a few sources, as I heard she has quite the eye—

ANNABELLE: (blinking in a vaguely uncanny manner. One eye at a time.) Eyes.

JONAH: (his own eye twitches slightly) Of course, of course. I had heard she has quite the eyes for crafting a truly entertaining narrative. We chatted briefly through emails and other correspondence before she finally was able to come in and film our pilot episode. 

ANNABELLE: (sticking her hand in the box and pulling out another slip of paper) Which brings us to our next question! 

JONAH: What? How on earth does that question have anything to do with what I've just said?

ANNABELLE: This one says “Ms. Cane! Ms. Cane! Who out of the cast do you find the most annoying? Who rambles the most in their confessionals?” Well, if I had to choose…

[Annabelle not very subtly glances over to Jonah. He grimaces back.]

JONAH: (coldly) Now, Ms. Cane. If your intentions inviting me to this interview were to try to humiliate me, then I think you have another thing coming.

[Annabelle pauses, as if debating internally if what she wants to say is worth it. She seems to decide it isn’t.]

ANNABELLE: …I don’t think I could pick any one person! See, everyone in The Archives cast is their own individual. I think their little flaws, quirks, and traits just make them that much more fascinating to observe, not annoying.  Although… I must say out of all of the employees, Martin might actually be the most inclined to ramble. 

JONAH: He’s quite the talkative individual when you get him going, isn’t he? 

ANNABELLE: Indeed. We have to cut most of his little, ah, monologues from the episodes, though. I personally find them fascinating, but I can’t say viewers would be interested in a two hour long soliloquy on extended metaphors. It’s a demographics thing. Roll the clip, Stacie!

[Camera cuts to a short montage of Martin in confessional.]

MARTIN: —and it’s been a while since I’ve looked at a lot of Sylvia Townsend Warner’s works, but I always thought her word choice in A Heart on The Sand was inter—

[Next clip.]

MARTIN: —if you ask me, Thoreau’s perspective on society and the working class felt far from grounded in reality, and I think it borders on pompous—

[Next clip. He’s sitting next to Tim, who’s halfway between amused and concerned.]

MARTIN: I’m sorry, but I think whatever obsession secondary school English teachers seemed to have for Shakespeare is part of a huge problem with our country’s education system!

TIM: Right on, Marto. Fuck that guy.

MARTIN: Exactly! This— this inane focus on the man is such a contribution to the skewed, Eurocentric view of literature and poetry! 

TIM: Preach. 

MARTIN: I mean, he wasn’t bad, but I feel like there’s so much more focus on—

[Montage ends. Annabelle laughs fondly.]

ANNABELLE: And I don’t think that’s even half of the rants we’ve caught on camera. 

JONAH: We all have our passions. Our hills to die on, one might say.

[Jonah makes a face of poetry disdain, albeit a subtle one.]

JONAH: Some… a little more agreeable than others, I suppose.

ANNABELLE: (squinting) Ah. Indeed. Next question! (grabbing a paper from the box) ‘Ms. Cane, what does your team use to record the more difficult scenes?’ What a wonderful question.

JONAH: Hm. I can’t say I’m not intrigued, myself. Those things are beyond my own Knowing, it seems.

ANNABELLE: I’m not surprised. Our production team has a knack for subtlety. To answer the question, however, we do have our head of filming, Susan!

[Camera cuts to a cluster of spiders on a table. The spiders are next to a high-tech looking camera, as well as an old looking analog camcorder. A graphic onscreen appears at the bottom, reading ‘SUSAN: HEAD OF FILMING.’]

EDITOR’S NOTE: Susan speaks solely through sounds of ominous skittering and hissing. For the viewer’s convenience, Cane Studios has provided translations in the subtitles. Or will add translations, when the footage airs. And when we figure out how to understand what she’s saying. 

SUSAN: (Extended sounds of enthusiastic skittering)

ANNABELLE: (offscreen) Fascinating! And what model is the camcorder?

SUSAN: (continued passionate hissing and skittering. It seems content.)

ANNABELLE: Well, there you have it, folks! Thanks for your time, Susan!

[Cue applause. Cut back to main interview.]

ANNABELLE: For any film fans out there looking to get some stellar recording equipment, we’ll put the companies we source our equipment from in this episode’s credits. Would you like to get this next question, Jonah?

JONAH: With pleasure. 

[Jonah sticks his hand into the box and immediately grimaces. He pauses for a moment. The camera crackles while he deliberates on which slip to pull out. Eventually, he decides and picks a paper. Jonah does not open it.]

JONAH: (blandly) If this were not a documentary and you had full agency over the fashion of the cast, what would you change? 

ANNABELLE: As a matter of fact, I actually have a chart! (Calling out to nowhere in particular) Michael, dear! Would you get the screen for me?

[The camera crackles and cuts out, but when it recovers, there is a projector screen beside Annabelle.]

ANNABELLE: Lovely, thank you. 

JONAH: Please stop doing that in the institute. I am being very generous to provide you this space. 

ANNABELLE: Of course, of course. Now, as you all can see, I think Martin would look lovely in some alternative attire. Maybe a leather jacket. One would think it might contradict his soft demeanor, but in my opinion, it feels it would highlight the best of him! 

[The slide of the projector depicts a somewhat well-drawn image of Martin wearing a leather jacket, accompanied by illegible notes and scrawls. Annabelle changes slides, and the name SASHA very briefly pops up before the camera immediately shuts down. It turns back on, but the screen now displays Sasha, who is absent from the screen. A thousand arrows point towards an invisible shape and form a silhouette that could be a person, one of Sasha’s most common outfits.]

ANNABELLE: I do admit, I am already quite fond of Sasha’s fashion. Although, I think she would look lovely in a sweater compared to those formal pantsuits she’s always in. Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely. I just think a sweater like this would really tie together an outfit for her!

[Annabelle eagerly gestures towards the screen, which Jonah squints at for a moment before nodding. He has the ghost of a smirk on his face.]

JONAH: I admit, your enthusiasm for fashion is... enlightening. 

[Annabelle bows a little theatrically and changes slides. There is a giant red X over one of Tim’s shirts.] 

ANNABELLE: Now, if I had it my way, those button-up shirts would be burned. How many ridiculous designs can one individual own on a work shirt? I feel that Timothy would look much better in a Hawaiian shirt, or in some simple, yet classy business-casual wear. If you gave him a proper button-up and some good, ironed out trousers and the like? The man would be unstoppable, if you asked me. 

[Jonah stares at a depiction of Tim in a Hawaiian shirt with some degree of displeasure.]

JONAH: I’m not sure there’s any universe where one would want to see Mr. Stoker in clothes so… gaudy. 

[Briefly pausing, Annabelle raises an eyebrow at Jonah. Clearly whatever she was considering saying wasn’t that important, as she decided against it.]

ANNABELLE: We don't have enough time allotted this episode to engage in a debate on universal constants, so we’re going to move on. Jon! I have no notes. I’m not entirely sure what he’s doing, but I like whatever it is. His sweaters are nice, his shoes are clean, and I think he takes better care of his hair than he does himself. 

JONAH: Really? Nothing? 

ANNABELLE: Nothing. We all have our niches. Jon’s is fitting. (clapping her hands together once) Right, we are running low on runtime, so why don’t we get to our final question of the season? Would you like to do the honors, Jonah?

JONAH: …I think you’d be better suited than I. 

[Annabelle shrugs her shoulders and tugs down on the screen until it shoots back up into the ceiling, where it has never been. She pulls out a final slip of paper from the question box. 

ANNABELLE: Ah! This one says… “Ms. Cane, Ms. Cane! What’s the deal with Martin mentioning being made of spiders?”

[Annabelle is suddenly solemn, and she turns to look directly into the camera with something akin to primordial fear in her eyes.]

ANNABELLE: I was hoping this wouldn’t get brought up, to be quite honest. 

JONAH: Ah, don’t be modest, Ms. Cane. I feel as though an agent of the web as well experience was yourself would be qualified to—

ANNABELLE: (haunted) I don’t know. I don’t know what that was. 

JONAH: What? You don’t? (a camera crackle, then a slight gasp from Jonah). Oh my god. You don’t. How do you not know? 

ANNABELLE: I’m not omnipotent, Jonah! I don’t know what happened with him and spiders!

JONAH: Forgive me, Ms. Cane, for believing there is a difference between omnipotence and basic comprehension of test subjects!

ANNABELLE: Oh, and you just know everything, don’t you?

JONAH: Actually, yes!

ANNABELLE: How fascinating! Perhaps you could use that omnipotence to tell me why Peter lef—

[The camera abruptly cuts out. The room is calm again when the film starts back up. Annabelle’s pretentious beret is tilted. Jonah’s equally pretentious tie is askew. Both sit for approximately 20 seconds in dead, awkward silence.]

ANNABELLE: (forcefully cheerful) Well, I want to give my dearest thanks to all of the loyal viewers who gave their time and entire beings to watching our lovely series! 

JONAH: (strained, eyes visibly reading cue cards off screen) We hope this documentary will encourage you to seek out ventures in the paranormal in your own areas. No matter the personal cost to yourself and others. 

ANNABELLE: We appreciate you tuning in! Your regularly scheduled programming will be taking place from now on. Things are just getting interesting, so don’t change the channel just yet, okay?

[Annabelle winks at the camera deliberately, and the studio audience cheers and hollers and screams. Slow fade-out.]

The Archives is a documentary filmed by Cane Productions under director Annabelle Cane and producer Jonah Magnus under a creative bullshit license. Cane Productions cannot claim liability to damage done to a viewer’s mental, physical, or existential health during the viewing of this production. 

Season 2 Premieres 11/25. May be subject to change based on pending production crew death and space-time inconsistencies.