THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES #75 - A Long Way Down
ฝัง
- เผยแพร่เมื่อ 24 มิ.ย. 2018
- MAG075 - Case #0060711 - Stephen Walker
Statement regarding their brother’s disappearance from the top of Tour Montparnasse.
The Magnus Archives tells the tale of a vertigo-inducing practical joke gone wrong whilst on holiday in Paris.
Starring: The Archivist - Jonathan Sims; Basira Hussain - Frank Voss
Writer: Jonathan Sims
Director: Alexander J Newall
Editors: Alexander J Newall, Mike LeBeau
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I love the realistic sibling relationship. The "I don't want to live within five miles of you but if any one hurts you I will kill them with my bare hands" is spot on
I agree, like I might argue with my siblings but if someone hurts them I will make them pay
The only one who can mes with my siblings is ME
My younger brother and I mix like water and oil, yet he beat a kid up in school for making fun of me. I still remember that day. All I can say is that the kid never said a word to me again. I remember throwing a book at a kid bullying my brother. I think that’s the closest I will ever get to hurting another person. Damn, this got way too deep. Oops
My siblings and I had ✨️ traumatic experiences ✨️ together, so we all still live together, three of the five of us adults, and I genuinely can't remember the last time we had a fight that wasn't a joke.
The best view of Paris is from the top of the Montparnasse tower because from there, you can't see the eyesore that is the Montparnasse tower.
Just googled it and oeuf you weren't kidding
it looks like a monster can sitting in the middle of a Lego model of Paris
I just checked my god are you right lmao what is that????
It's funny that people back in the day complained about the eiffel tower in much the same way, but holy cow is that tower completely out of place
I was wondering how bad it could be and you're right, it is bad
Can we all just appreciate the brother for a minute? Kid with a crippling fear of heights watches his brother climb a rickety ladder, fall off, and break his arm. So what does he do? He forces himself to climb the exact same ladder so he can call for help. He watched his brother get injured by the thing he’s afraid of, and immediately faces that fear to save him. What an absolute legend
He really is
This. Exactly this!
I've absolutely found some of the previous statements to be very creepy or eerie, but this one brought literal tears to my eyes. Their relationship, though rocky, felt genuine.
Regardless of any sibling-animosity, at the end of the day, they both cared about eachother; Made wholly evident in Grant climbing that ladder, and in Stephen's conviction to kill the man who took him away.
Though I find it unlikely, I hope Stephen has found some justice, perhaps in a similar manner to Trevor Herbert, The Vampire Hunter
Exactly, and even without anyone holding the ladder for him
You know they say keeping a ladder in the house can be more dangerous than a loaded gun. That’s why I own ten guns. In case some MANIAC tries to sneak in a ladder.
Do I sense a gravity falls reference?
Unexpected Gravity Falls reference is unexpected
I recently watched that episode!
@@teleutenachtigaller2762 woah i watched it two weeks ago too, spooky haha
You know if you ask me, Michael Crew ne ackin CRAY CRAY.
Interesting that Jon gets interrupted shortly after mentioning Robert Kelley, and never gets back to it. In the episode _Freefall_ (which featured Kelley’s story), he got interrupted by Martin at the end of the tape when recording his closing thoughts, but never got back to what he was about to say about it. Seems to be something going on with that story that he just cannot finish his thoughts on it.
thats an annoying thing to either keeping it mysterious, when there is no mystery or secret, just to keep you on it....or to avoid spoilers.
@@Seelenschwert088or there is literally some paranormal thing keeping him from finishing his thoughts
Well at the very least he did later get around to what he wanted to say the second time Simon Fairchild appeared.
I can't stress enough how much I love Barisa's character, especially her "fuck it" attitude. I really liked Daisy too, the both of them have been my favorite side characters thus far purely for their personality.
I like to imagine the two of em are a couple lol
@@victory_snow8220 Jon and Basira? O-o
@@cezar3169 I think they meant Basira and Daisy :D
Just wait. That will change.
oh more Barisa. i hope she stays around (is not dead soon)
the idea of being ontop of a tall tower with no railings and no way down but Down......absolutely terrifying
The man with the lightning scar aye? Man fame really messed up harry potter😔😔😔
Lmao I was thinking the same thing
the leitner books are all just a harry potter fanfic
Harry Potter and the *DIG*
Emily Barclay there’s GOT to be at least one fanfiction like that and if not I’m writing it
Harry Potter and the Book of Homicides - the dark years
Ladder: *T-posing*
Grant: *cowers in fear*
anybody else concerned how this is the second time jon and basira speak on the main tape about jon being given gertrude tapes, rather than them mentioning it on the supplemental tapes?
getting sloppy joooon
Also why was there no supplement here? Are you trying to tell me that Jon took a break for once or something??
Haha I bet he had to record it again
I think he's just less paranoid now and isn't as worried about his coworkers anymore
I believe that this whole episode was not given to the work tape recorder but it was given to the second one John has for his secret I-can't-trust-anyone-from-my-work-to-know-about-this tapes. Which is why there was no supplement here, 'cause the whole episode was a "supplement". His discussions with Basira are kept a secret from the others in the first place 'cause he doesn't want them to know he's contacting her for Gertrude's tapes. So, the episodes in which he talks with Basira are, actually, the supplemental tapes from start to finish.
@@sknfmsmr yeah it seems like in this universe theres no way to record over used tapes. Because if he really wanted to he could just skip to the end and record over the part he needs to obscure. Way easier
Listen, this all could have been avoided with some basic ladder safety tips. If someone is using a ladder that is taller than they are (especially on unsteady ground) someone else should be on the other side of the ladder "footing it", that is putting their body weight on it for stability. A ladder falling with a person on the end of it will not be stopped by your arms, no matter how strong you are, use your weight. Set up extension ladders using the 4-to-1 rule, positioning the bottom of the ladder one foot away from the wall for every 4 feet of height. When using a ladder, keep three points of contact with it at all times (foot, foot, hand, or foot, foot, hip most commonly). This has been TMA ladder safety training, protecting your brother from being spookily kidnapped by Mike Crew.
Thank you! ♡
I feel like I just read the most useful passage in the OSHA handbook.
My thought exactly, I mean they were drunk, but scared of heights or Not, you should still stabilize the ladder for safety, or ask for it 👁👁😤
anyway, I'm probably just a little triggered , thinking of my own siblings... aka the story got me 😂
Good to know, random commenter. Next time I look at a ladder I will think of you. And the next. And probably the next, too. I think, in this case, this might be a good thing.
Thank you! Good luck with not being kidnapped!
Enjoy tower blue
Enjoy ladder brown
@@trucetruce335 that shouldn't have been funny but this comment honestly had me laughing
@@trucetruce335 lmao
THE WAY I LAUGHED
aaaaaaaayyyyyyyy xD
It's wierd though, there is a recuring theme about endlessness. The diving girl, Robert Kelly, the woman that "Michael" came for with the corridor, this Grant, the endless Killing floor... and a lot of those cases can be assimilated to "Michael", and now Michael Crew with one of them. Though, this one is aslo mostly with heights...
Also, I remember the Lukas family being tied to "Alone" types, but also Endless, in a way? Endless graveyard, endless field, endless space... Could they be tied? I don't know.
Finally these unorganized thoughts made me realized that there is too many important characters named Michael really
Wait they isn’t only one Michael? Shit.
Oh, Shelly and Crew. 🤦♀️ I have been mixing them up the whole time.
@@asterphy lmao yep they're two different people xD I'd be tempted to say "welcome to the *Crew* of the people who mix up characters" but that'd be a way to lame pun
@@asterphy That's OK. John does too at a certain point.
Maybe there's a bit of an overlap to things? Like, If you're in space, you're in the dark, which is - was - more Rayner's shtick, but then you can also be alone, in the big ol empty void, which would be more the Lukas family, and Grandpa Sky Blue respectively.
But, there's only 2 Michaels. One's got the lightning star, the other kidnapped a lady with a disappearing door and has the SPOOKIEST voice.
Jon: It was because of him - the man with the lightning scar
Me: HARRY POTTER???!!!!
He was the boy with the lightning scar
DID YOU PIT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE
@@davidrogers9206 asked Dumbledore calmly
Literally what I said
DIDYA?!?! @@davidrogers9206
"there he was, shia lebouf"
He's almost upon you now, and you can see there is blood on his face!
My God, there's blood everywhere!
@@RelativelyBest Running for you life (from Shia LaBeouf)
He's brandishing a knife (It's Shia LaBeouf)
Lurking in the shadows
Hollywood superstar Shia LaBeouf
Actual Cannibal Shia Lebouf!
Rob Cantor could wind up in one of these stories and I wouldn't bat an eye honestly.
Turns out, he was an actual real life monster all along.
I related a bit to the sibling nature of this statement... One time I took my sisters to San Fransisco to see The Cursed Child. My youngest sister, who was 11 at the time, had been loud, complaining and a little butt all day. It was evening, and we went to a restaurant inside of a many-floored shopping center for dinner. At the end, we were coming down the escalators, and she was refusing to keep up with us. I turned to my other sister and said let's hop in the elevator and spook her by disappearing for a second. All I meant was for us to get to the bottom faster than her, so that she was confused when she came down. The elevator took us to the "ground floor", but it was nothing like it should be. It was far below- a weird little place with some food shops. The lights were dim and my sense of direction was suddenly dizzyingly confused. I remember the immediate drop in my gut, the sense of not knowing how to get to her again. The immediate regret. The horrible guilt. We got back in the elevator and frantically tried to get to the right floor. When we finally did get to the main exit, she wasn't there... Luckily as I tore back up the flights of the escalator she was simply a floor or two up, giving us a rightfully furious and scared glare. Makes my stomach turn just thinking about it. It's weird how sometimes being a sibling can make you cruel in certain moments. You don't even think about what you're doing until it's too late. Yuck. I'm going to go give her a hug now...
that feeling of "oh shit I'm going to actually scare them this is horrible" always ends up being scarier than what they would've felt if the prank had gone right istg
The worst part of this comment is that you guys had to sit through Cursed Child...
i have to say it... sounds like the spiral got you
Im astounded I have found no other comments so far regarding this, but this characters main error was being a petty asshole instead of just drawing some boundaries. Letting this dude live in your flat even after hes gotten a job back when youre clearly not comfortable with it... man oh man. And instead of tossing him out or just talking to him for starters, you allow him to come along on your *private* trip and then decide to trigger his phobia as a *revenge*??!
Everything about this dynamic is so unhealthy, childish and backwards, I really needed to talk about this.
Yeaaaah except it's sometimes hard to say no to your own brother. I've been in many, many similar situations with family. When you try to talk to them about boundaries? Pfff, what even *are* boundaries?! Some people just disrespect your personal space and use you since you're family. Honestly this is exactly what his brother reminded me of, hence why I've little to no sympathy for Grant. As far as I'm concerned, I hope he enjoys his journey down the ladder.
Well, it sounds like their parents guilt tripped him
Would not be surprised if this statement was originally an AITA post tbh
@@mechengr1731 exactly
@@dobyk5338 you know....you could always leave the City OR the Country to force your relatives to understand, that you have your own free will AND thus, has your own choices to make.
And if said relative argues "but what should i do, when you are gone"....tell them "jesus, are you a child or an Adult? Goback to our Parents" and if they dont welcome him, you know, what you can expect from them.
Oh poor Grant... He's absolutely not dead. This poor boy will stay on the ladder. Forever. He'll probably be too scared to let the ladder go and just fall but even if he decides to do that, he won't get the resolve of finally dying...
Having listened now - thing 1: Stephen doesn't know it, but I'm almost 100% sure that he's to blame for his brother getting taken. Putting him into close proximity with his phobia was probably like ringing a dinner bell. Like that guy who was on the underground late at night a few episodes back.
thing 2: Basira continues to be freakin' awesome. Hopefully, if she has managed to duck out on the ooky-spooky at this point, she gets to have a good life away from it all.
She was too popular.
Statement - Mentions a guy with a lightning scar being the cause of the statement.
Me - What did you do Mike Crew? What did you do?
Maybe the sky ate this one too but, the Fairchild guy wasn’t there. Oh! Jon seems to think so too!
*Nom*
Me: feels okay whenever heights are mentioned since I’m not that scared of them
This bloody episode: LADDERS
Me: I’m in danger.jpeg
Terrifying....! Thanks for the best eerie stories i've ever heard. I'm a longtime fan of ghost/scary stories- since i was 5 and first heard Alfred Hitchcock's "Ghost Stories for Young People". Listening to the Magnus Archives has become an almost nightly ritual. Thank you very much for the excellent production!
This one made me sad. The thought of the brother scared and alone, in his worst fear...
Imagine feeling the guilt that you're the reason that happened to him just cause you wanted to get a tiny bit of petty satisfaction out scaring him like of course you couldn't have known this was gonna happen but you're still at fault
Everyone making the Harry Potter joke regarding the lightning scar, but that fractal scarring from lightning strikes is genuinely what I used to imagine Harry's scar as!
Basira!!!! Coming through!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This one really spooked me, I'm not even afraid of heights, but something about it got to me.
Right? I felt the same, they managed to pass the fear of heights better than any spider or worm ever managed. I caught myself grabbing my chair
It might be the concept of endlessness. At least, for me.
@@himeow7454 definitly that. endless falling, endless under water, endless corridors and meat packaging sites. and now, an endless tower where the only way down, if there even is a down, is a ladder. forever is a concept that is innately scary to humans, since we are not forever. whatever that tower is, its going to outlive his brother, and his brother will most likely climb it down endlessly until he gives, stay up there, or fall. top it off, people in these stories act rather realistically and it STILL ends up bad for them, makes it actually feel like there is no escape, which i personally love in my cosmic horrors.
Okay but like I related so much to the detail about how ladders in particular freaked him out. I'm not usually scared of heights. I can be high up on a building, climbing a tree, sitting on the edge of a cliff, or hell, even one time I went zip lining over 500 ft above the ground and it was just an absolute blast. But for some reason ladders get me. Like it doesn't even have to be a tall ladder or even be high up on it. The second I'm even on the first rung of a ladder I freak out and start shaking. Doesn't happen if it's a ladder actually built in/attached to the structure, but any other time I just get really freaked out on ladders. It's really weird.
I definitely get that. For me, it’s not even about heights. I am afraid of using ladders because I don’t trust them to be stable! I’ve been on many a ladder that shook or moved slightly, and I just can’t trust them. (It’s the same fear I feel walking over an icy sidewalk. I don’t want to lose my footing and fuck up my knees even more than they are.)
If a ladder is like rock solid, and actually built into a structure, I’m fine, because I know it literally can’t move unexpectedly. But yeah, even stepladders make me extremely anxious. 😥
where's that king posting transcripts I miss them
they’re still around I think? just less frequent as you go further on in the series. anyway stan the Transcriptor
i miss them 2 ):
i saw them two comments above yours
@@f_mva that's someone else and commented after i wrote this
@@mikulek04 oh oops, the not! transcriptor fooled me
Basria came thruuuuuu what a Q U E E N
A lot of Gertrude tapes. Yes!
"I did not invite Grant, which you would think would've made him think twice about coming with me." I'm dying help 🤣
Feel bad for the brother.
Basira "If I never see you again or hear about any of this, that will be thanks enough" ..... oh Basira i'm so sorry.
I hope Basira doesn't end up dead, she's so awesome. I ship her and Jon- platonically of course. I want them to be able to be friends.
Basira poggers
Go Basira!
I got an ad for driving out demons lol
Dawg stop playing I literally also have a fear of heights but still try to challenge it a lot and usually and up paralized in fear.
Ladders are absolute hell for me, especially because I did NOT have considerate siblings (they really caused my fear of heights and arachnophobia to be so much worse than it probably would be otherwise).
This episode got me shivering bruh
Jon still thinks the power comes from the books he's so cute
Basira champ
grant is so relatable, i am also acrophobic and just climbing on ladders no matter how short it is kills me.
I feel bad for Stephen, he only wanted to just scare his brother, instead Grant disappeared.
I wonder what Michael Crew is doing now.
No one else seems to have pointed it oit but this is the second or third time the tapes have been mentioned on while he was still recording an official tape instead of the suplementals im worried not shasha or something else is going to find out
oh god...
So there seems to be a thing of these entities needing people to fear them, e.g. Jane Prentiss talking about how the hive hated the Magnus Institute for robbing it of fear by explaining it (or something like that). In this it seems like Michael Crew went after someone with an existing fear of heights, when his fear theme seems to be heights, lightning, the sky, that sort of thing. In Freefall, the victim was someone who loved skydiving, but after spending so much time falling he became afraid of the sky, and then the sky "ate" him. It had to make Robert Kelley afraid of heights before it could eat him, but Grant just needed to be brought to it. It seems like the entities feed on fear, and I can't help but imagine Freefall being a story of the sky cooking itself a meal, and this is the story of it sending Michael Crew out to get takeaway
that's some.... neat and fun imagery! lol. for what's going on in a horror podcast ofc, but nice and fun description, thanks for sharing! xD
Best description ever!😂
Michael with the fingers, Mike Crew, Mikaele Salesa- there's a lot of nasty Mikes in this podcast.
Thought he said Graham for a second.
Wow, two Michaels in just as many episodes.
Jon's assesment at the end made me wonder if Distorted Michael was the same as this one. If he used to be a person who got in contact with a Leitner, and everything *spiraled* /I'm hilarious, I know/ out of control. Even though the entities created by books don't seem to talk, like, ever. Like there's not enough identity there to produce words or even want to do that. Ironically, Distorted Michael, who explicitly stated he was a "what", not a "who", is rather willing to convey his thoughts.
i feel like Fairchild, Michael and Lighting Michael are connected.... Michael seems to be the only (visibly) non-human so maybe they work for him?
Ppl said TMA will have any kind of phobia you could imagine. I have a terrible acrophobia, i CAN'T NEVER use a ladder, i can't never look down if i was literally just 1 meter above the ground. I will shaking, crying and i even faint one time. This eps really trigger me LoL
Ok I've been to montparnasse. It's like a much better view of Paris than the Eiffel tower, but people aren't allowed in the Eiffel anymore. 😔
My cat makes me hold her paw when we listen to this 😭😭😭
My theory from this episode and what we know so far:
I like it when John is connecting the dots between cases, like yes John, this does remind a bit the case with the sky that ate that man. I also believe that this is, indeed, the same entity with that episode, the vast entity. It appears to me that in many cases until now we have the entities taking something that a person either really loves or is really scared off and twists it in a way that is scary as f**k for that person. But, I believe that there is a difference between these two categories of victims: the first category, the victims who actually really love something (an activity or whatever) are drawn from the entities because they sync so well with them and they are potential hosts of the said entity they're dealing with/it is more likely for them to become a part of the said entity; while the other category, the victims who were scared of something and their fear was used against them, they are drawn by the entities because they're so appropriate to become their victims. Now, there are probably cases were a victim of the second category actually managed to survive that encounter and ended up becoming a part of the entity in the end, and also not many of the potential hosts actually pass the "test" and become hosts. All in all, this is my theory until now about how the victims in some cases are selected.
Now, I feel like we once again have a hint of the supernatural's power of making people not feel worried or not act on their worries moments before they actually encounter the entity. I mean, a person who is terrified to death of heights and high places and is so eager to leave this place and goes back to the elevator, but then stops from entering the elevator and saying "nah, Imma sit down here a bit first"? Oh that's definitely the vast entity messing with its victim and reassuring him that this is what he should do at that specific moment. As for Michael with the scar, it saddens me to think that he also became a part of an entity, in this case the vast entity. I get that he had to use the vast's dimension in order to trap the lightning monster that was chasing him in there, but him becoming a part of it, like Michael for the spiral or Prentiss for the hive.. I really hoped that he would have gotten himself out of the vast dimension as a human. As for the poor brother trapped in the vast dimension, I can only imagine that his experience will be him finally deciding that the only way out of that roof is through that ladder and building enough courage to get on it, only to realise after some time that the roof has now been infinitely farther away from him, just as the city below him, and no matter how much he goes in either direction, the distances between him and the roof and the city don't seem to change. And, just as the witness feared of happening, his brother will be forever stuck in that ladder..
Heyy you agaiinn I'm listening here for the first time (even if its pretty late lol) but I just wanted to say thank you and that I love your theories, even if I'm late, reading your comments seems that I have someone listening with me :)
not going to say too much, maybe in another spoilered comment, but nice as hell comment! and i also like it when jonathan sims is connecting the dots!
anyway thanks very much for sharing these thoughts !! :)
well! i was complaining about basira not helping jon in return, but seems like i have to swallow my words
In case you still wanted vague commentary
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Vast
Just started and "Tour Montparnasse" my French heart melted ! I love foreigners speaking French (the prononciation is perfect btw)
did they seriously have to name the lightning guy Michael as well?
wait
so there are TWO Michaels???
The Blond Michael and the Harry Michael???
Yes.
Scared of heights, I feel that.
Interesting.... I think the entities actually prefer making people fear things they once loved or felt at ease with, whereas humans who obtain any of the books prefer to relish in an already existing fear.
Some of my least favourite nightmares are ones where I'm trying to get up the escalators to my local bus station, and they have all been replaced with ladders.
"Good God...I'll never make the three o'clock terminal..."
There's a part of me that is immeasurably disappointed in the polices response. On one hand I *know* that all of this is horrifying and terrible and any sane individual would run away from it at the first opportunity. But just... Imagine if someone who was a fighter was given the information that Jon has been gathering through these statements. With just a mention of a name Jon was able to give trained policemen with paranormal experience a possible weakness and its probably fair to say it dam well worked. If only a little. Just imagine if Jon had a task force of armed individuals he could call upon who could track down and eliminate these... threats to humanity. The loss of potential humans kicking cosmic horror ass disappoints me.
We shouldn't run from fear, but look it in the eyes and kick it in the privates in a boiling fit of spite and anger for the lives it's taken.
If you've finished TMA check out the new series The Magnus Protocol! Seems like RQ might be on the same page as you.
This story reminds me of when I visited the eureka sky deck in Melbourne, Australia as a child. Possibly one of my worst memories considering I have acrophobia.
how sad.
Alexa, play 'Free-falling.'
Wonderful episode, just the right thing to listen to while trying to draw Ex Altiora.
I've taken to thinking of this class of phenomenon as Genius Locii, concepts and places that are granted a malevolent manifestation.
So uh my heart's been doing some funky stuff and recently I've had a few incidents of it feeling like I'm falling when I'm sitting down and yeah
❤️Basira❤️
The Sky ate Grant
Me: wow, the previous episode was really spooky, I wonder what's next
The episode's title: the same as One Direction's song
i listened to this episode long ago but it somehow got misfiled in my brain as a real event i learned about of fascinating horror or something… this was quite weird upon relistening because of that 😅
I've been on the tour monparnasse this is gonna be fun
I have been mesmerized since Episode 1
Basira you absolute icon
The sky ate him!
nom nom
Isn't Deloitte the same place Amy Patel from episode 3 worked? Don't know if that even means anything or if im even right
There are a lot of mentions of New Zealand in this series so far (where the tourists who helped the guy up were from in this episode)
Huh so this is my fear tma... i don't hate ladders just dislike them but hights are my fear since forever so... poor Grant
[CLICK]
ARCHIVIST
Statement of Stephen Walker, regarding his brother’s disappearance from the top of Tour Montparnasse in October 2006. Original statement given November 7th, 2006. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)
I hope my brother is dead. He must be dead. I would love to believe that this is all some elaborate prank, some bizarre attempt to fake his own disappearance, but deep down I know that’s not my brother. So he is dead. If not, I can’t even begin to comprehend how dreadful a fate that would be. Some fears can only be endured for so long.
My brother Grant was always afraid of heights. I remember we used to climb trees as children. He would always get scared halfway up, and it would be an hour of coaxing and reassurance before he managed to climb down. He still tried to climb them, though. That was my brother: always full of bravery and optimism until the moment the terror set kicked in. He never did have the strongest survival instinct.
Generally he was fine with tall buildings, if they had a lift. Stairs were often more of a problem, especially if there were windows from which he could see the ground getting further away. Still, the majority of his phobia, strangely enough, was focused on ladders.
That’s not to say he fainted with horror just being in the same room as one, just that climbing up and down ladders was a particular sort of torture for Grant. Those few occasions when I saw him do so, the stark white terror I saw etched on his face with every slight rattle or shift of the thing, was enough to convince me that this wasn’t some quirk to be gently mocked over Christmas dinner; it was a real and intense manifestation of his phobia.
For the most part it didn’t affect our lives that much. We shared a small house in Jarrow, up near Newcastle, and it took more than a second floor to freak Grant out, although he pointedly never climbed the small stepladder that led up to the attic. The living arrangements were less than ideal, as Grant had been abruptly fired from his admin position with Deloitte in January so he didn’t contribute much to the house except for an indentation on the sofa. I hadn’t really wanted to take him in. I mean, it’s not that I don’t love him or anything, he’s my brother, it’s just that we’d always got on best when we spent most of our time apart. Familiarity does breed some sorts of contempt better than others, and I knew that we were unlikely to be domestically suited to each other, as I am by nature quite fastidious in ways that I know my brother is not. However, I had recently gone through a break-up, and there were only so many well-meaning hints from my parents about what to do with the newly-spare room that, in the end, I caved and invited him to live with me.
Work had been slow coming for Grant. By the time he lost the job with Deloitte, his knowledge of database administration had been so specific and specialist, that he was struggling to find jobs that fit his skillset. Which meant more time for him to spend making our living room look like a bombsite.
I’m sorry. I know how this must sound, but I feel it’s important you understand why I took him up to Tour Montparnasse in the first place. I couldn’t have known what would happen. Deep down, though, in the hidden corners of my scepticism, I know it’s not my fault. I know it’s because of the man with the lightning scar. He did this. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but he took my brother away from me, and if I ever see him again, I’m going to kill him.
The first time we saw him was when I broke my arm. It was about a year ago, just after Halloween. We’d both been out to a party the night before; I had managed to lose my keys, and it was only as we approached our front door that Grant decided it was the right time to announce he’d left his keys in the house, assuming I’d have mine. I was quite upset by this, and we had something of a row out there in the front garden, both of us yelling through blistering hangovers. We couldn’t get a locksmith, as that would take hours and cost us a lot of money that, with Grant unemployed and living with me, I did not have. After another few minutes of recriminations, I spotted that Grant had left his window ever so slightly ajar. Normally I would have reminded him that leaving a window open invites burglars, but in this case that was almost exactly what we wanted.
I knocked on the door of the house next to ours. Jim Hancock was not the best of neighbours. He was the closest thing to a cartoon Cockney that I’ve ever met, and had a habit of blasting music loud enough to bleed through the walls of our terraced house. He was, however, a builder, which meant that he would have a ladder. He did and, after having a nice abrasive laugh at our situation, he went and fetched it. He wasn’t interested in helping with the actual entrance to our home, and told us to leave the ladder in front of his garden, apparently unconcerned by the prospect of thieves.
Obviously I was the one going up the ladder. We placed it in the garden, trying to get the end nestled in the crook of the window, and I started to climb. It was less stable than I had anticipated. Grant was gripping it at the bottom, but the ground was softer than I thought, and as I reached for the window, I felt my stomach drop as the ladder pitched slowly to the side. I’d love to say that next thing I knew I was on the ground with a broken arm, but I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. The rush of cold autumn air as I fell. The impact of my arm against the low brick wall. The sickening crunch.
I lay there, my arm in absolute agony, as Grant ran over to check on me. It was clear that the bone was broken and we needed to call an ambulance. My phone had been smashed in the fall, and when I asked Grant to use his, he got very quiet and told me sheepishly that it, like his keys, was still inside the house. Grant started knocking on people’s doors but no-one answered. Maybe they weren’t home, or maybe they had heard our blazing row and didn’t want to help us. Even Jim didn’t seem inclined to open his door a second time. It was becoming more and more clear that our only option was for Grant to climb in and get his phone, and I could see from his pale, frightened face that he had come to the same conclusion.
To his credit, I didn’t have to talk him into it. My obvious agony seemed to do that for me. He hoisted the ladder off the ground and pushed it close to the window. Then he stood there at the bottom, droplets of sweat visible on his face, and looked at me. He placed his foot on the lowest rung and began to climb. It was slow and watching it was almost as painful as my shattered bone. His neck was rigid, stiff with the will not to look down. He was barely ten feet off the ground, and every time the ladder shifted slightly he made a small sound of terror. He kept his face away from me but I think he might have been crying.
It was as Grant was making his gradual ascent that I saw the man with the scar. He was stood there, just across the street, watching us. He was short, and wore an old grey suit, faded with age, that didn’t seem to match his relatively youthful face. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a jagged array of pale white scar tissue that seemed to climb up the side of his neck like a flash of lightning. His pale eyes were entirely focused on Grant making his excruciating way up the ladder. If he noticed me watching him, he gave no sign of it. When I looked at him, I had the strangest feeling, like a wave of dizziness washing over me, and my stomach dropped again, like it had when I fell. I tried to tell myself it was just from the pain in my arm making me feel ill, but it faded every time I looked away from that strange, scarred man who watched my brother.
I looked back to Grant, who was nearly at the top and clearly struggling. His hands were so slick with sweat he was having trouble holding on to the metal rungs, and he was swaying dangerously. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had, but just as I was sure he was about to lose his grip he reached out and got his arm into the open window. He grabbed hold of something inside, and started to pull himself through.
Soon his torso had disappeared into the window, then his legs. Everything was quiet; I suddenly felt very alone. I turned to look at the man with the scar but it seemed like he had decided to move on. I could see him a little way down the street, walking away faster than I would have expected. I just lay there, with nothing to keep me company but the pain of my injury.
Then I heard the sound of the latch, cutting through the silence, and the front door opened to reveal Grant, still soaked in sweat, triumphantly clutching his phone. I congratulated him on overcoming his fear before gently reminding him that the reason we needed the phone was to call an ambulance. He nodded like he hadn’t forgotten, and made the call.
The ambulance and hospital did pass in a bit of a blur. There was an X-ray, and a lot more detail about the specifics of the break than I really thought was necessary for the treatment instructions of “keep it in a cast and try not to move it”. It was irritating, but it wasn’t as if it was the first time I had broken a bone. Time passed, I healed, and I forgot about the strange man who had watched my brother almost fall.
My brother finally got another job shortly before Christmas, with Deloitte again, though a different department, but he didn’t seem inclined to move out of the room in my house. He did offer to cover the rent for a few months, which I did appreciate, as paying it solo had wiped out a good deal of my savings. It wasn’t like I had other housemates lining up to join me, so I resolved to make the best of it and live with his irritating habits. It was fine, you know. We didn’t get on any better than we had when he was unemployed, but without the lingering resentment of money I could just about tolerate his occasional hygiene issues. And life rolled on.
It was about two months ago that I started planning for Paris. There was a conference I was due to speak at, and I hadn’t had a holiday since I broke up with Carly, so I decided to take a full week there to really relax. I did not invite Grant, which you would have thought would make him think twice about coming with me, but you’d be wrong. As soon as I mentioned it to him, he was online checking if there were any more seats on my flight. There were. Then he kept bugging me to change my hotel booking to a twin room until I finally relented and did so. Every time I mentioned something I was planning to do he would invite himself along, generally getting me to arrange it and saying he’d pay me back. I’m sure he intended to, and was just excited to spend some time hanging out in Paris, but at the start of October he lost his job again.
He had been caught smoking weed on company property. It hadn’t been on the clock at the time, and he managed to talk them out of actually calling the police, but he was dismissed on the spot and told in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome to apply for any further vacancies. I imagine he wasn’t going to get a reference, either. He was devastated, of course, and I will admit that I wasn’t as sympathetic as I could have been. From my point of view, it was his own damn fault; because of it I was suddenly on the hook for a reasonable amount of money. It was clear that when we went to Paris I was going to have to pay for him, and he was so despondent that I didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t come.
So that’s why, when we went to Paris three weeks ago, I was both seriously pissed at Grant, and in almost complete control of where we went while we were there. I think that’s why I decided to take him up Tour Montparnasse. There was no way I was going to get him up the Eiffel Tower, but I reckoned, correctly, that he wouldn’t have heard of the Tour Montparnasse, the actual highest point in Paris accessible by the public. It just looked like a normal skyscraper, so I reckoned it probably wouldn’t ring any alarm bells for him until we were actually in the lift.
You’ve got to understand I just wanted to freak him out a little bit. He’d have a bit of a panic, I’d pretend to have forgotten about his phobia, and we’d head back down with me feeling slightly avenged. I couldn’t have known.
At first it was all going exactly according to plan. I was vague about the attraction we were going to see, and he clearly hadn’t heard of the Tour Montparnasse, so he didn’t make any fuss when we went inside, even when we first got into the elevator. As it started to rise, though, I saw the apprehension start to creep across his face and he asked where the lift was taking us. I had to fight to suppress a smile as I told him we were heading up to the best view in Paris and his face started to drain of colour. By the time we reached the top his legs were shaking so badly he was finding it hard to stand. I feigned concern, though inside I was savouring his discomfort more than was probably healthy.
I helped him out of the lift, and he turned around almost immediately, about to get back in, but something about the idea of going back down again so soon clearly caused him to hesitate. He mumbled something about sitting down and collecting his thoughts, and staggered over to a seat a good distance away from the barriers that surrounded the building’s rooftop observation terrace.
I left him to collect his thoughts and walked over to the edge. The view was breathtaking. I could see all of Paris stretching out before me, including the Eiffel Tower. And in the mid-morning sun it was one of the most beautiful and serene things I had ever seen.
It was as I gazed at the majestic city below me that I felt a lurch in my stomach, like I was falling, and I pitched forward into the barrier, bruising my arm and sending an agonising echo of my broken bone shooting up my body. I braced myself on my hands and knees, trying to overcome the sudden swimming nausea in my head. Finally, I managed to centre my vision enough to look up and there he was. There was an icy breeze that high up, but he seemed not to notice as his loose, thin shirt billowed around that sprawling white scar. He stared at me, and I felt again like I was falling right through the floor. I tried to speak, say anything, but my breath seemed caught in my chest. The worst part, though, was his expression. He looked bored.
At some point I felt hands gripping me and I was pulled gently from the floor. It was a pair of tourists from New Zealand who had come over to see if I was alright. I mumbled something about vertigo, though the feeling had faded now. I looked around, but there was no sign of the scarred man. I looked again, and realised with mounting alarm that there was also no sign of Grant. I checked, but the terrace wasn’t huge and there was nowhere for him to be hiding. I thought he must have taken the lift back down, but he wasn’t in the lobby, or outside, or anywhere. He was gone.
I didn’t realise my phone was dead until several hours into the search. When I finally charged it, I had dozens of missed calls from Grant and almost four hundred text messages. Most were too scrambled to read, but those that weren’t were asking where I was. Where anybody was. Where the elevators were.
There was one picture that seemed to have come through without too much corruption: it seemed to show the terrace, but where the barrier should have been was just a sheer drop, with the top of a ladder reaching up and over it. I couldn’t make out the city below it. I tried to call his phone so many times, but whenever it actually connected, all I heard was the sound of rushing wind.
you're doing gods work here my dude, ily
Thank you!
Cryoscius thank youu
@@Cthulhuer thanks
this one reminds me a lot of me and my sister lol.
SNAKE EATEEEER~
Mike crew my beloved
Sky: *NOM NOM*
Oof Double whammy. Insomnia to Vertigo. two things i suffer from
I didn't like this episode. I mean I loved it but, its the only one so far to actually scare me. I'm slightly nauseous. The weird thing is I'm not even scared of heights, some of my best memories are standing on the edge of a cliff but this . . . was too much I don't know if I'm going to be climbing anytime soon.
Why did when he described the lightning scare man I imagined happy chaos from guilty gear
No supplemental? D:
bye basiraaaa!!!!!! I'll miss youuuu!!!!!
Well looks like Jon just got a big break.
LOOOOORE
Ah that dot com at the end with the faintest hint of brogue. Can anyone else hear the thing that makes me giggle every time? 🎭
ARCHIVIST
Statement of Stephen Walker, regarding his brother’s disappearance from the top of Tour Montparnasse in October 2006. Original statement given November 7th, 2006. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)
I hope my brother is dead. He must be dead. I would love to believe that this is all some elaborate prank, some bizarre attempt to fake his own disappearance, but deep down I know that’s not my brother. So he is dead. If not, I can’t even begin to comprehend how dreadful a fate that would be. Some fears can only be endured for so long.
My brother Grant was always afraid of heights. I remember we used to climb trees as children. He would always get scared halfway up, and it would be an hour of coaxing and reassurance before he managed to climb down. He still tried to climb them, though. That was my brother: always full of bravery and optimism until the moment the terror set kicked in. He never did have the strongest survival instinct.
Generally he was fine with tall buildings, if they had a lift. Stairs were often more of a problem, especially if there were windows from which he could see the ground getting further away. Still, the majority of his phobia, strangely enough, was focused on ladders.
That’s not to say he fainted with horror just being in the same room as one, just that climbing up and down ladders was a particular sort of torture for Grant. Those few occasions when I saw him do so, the stark white terror I saw etched on his face with every slight rattle or shift of the thing, was enough to convince me that this wasn’t some quirk to be gently mocked over Christmas dinner; it was a real and intense manifestation of his phobia.
For the most part it didn’t affect our lives that much. We shared a small house in Jarrow, up near Newcastle, and it took more than a second floor to freak Grant out, although he pointedly never climbed the small stepladder that led up to the attic. The living arrangements were less than ideal, as Grant had been abruptly fired from his admin position with Deloitte in January so he didn’t contribute much to the house except for an indentation on the sofa. I hadn’t really wanted to take him in. I mean, it’s not that I don’t love him or anything, he’s my brother, it’s just that we’d always got on best when we spent most of our time apart. Familiarity does breed some sorts of contempt better than others, and I knew that we were unlikely to be domestically suited to each other, as I am by nature quite fastidious in ways that I know my brother is not. However, I had recently gone through a break-up, and there were only so many well-meaning hints from my parents about what to do with the newly-spare room that, in the end, I caved and invited him to live with me.
Work had been slow coming for Grant. By the time he lost the job with Deloitte, his knowledge of database administration had been so specific and specialist, that he was struggling to find jobs that fit his skillset. Which meant more time for him to spend making our living room look like a bombsite.
I’m sorry. I know how this must sound, but I feel it’s important you understand why I took him up to Tour Montparnasse in the first place. I couldn’t have known what would happen. Deep down, though, in the hidden corners of my scepticism, I know it’s not my fault. I know it’s because of the man with the lightning scar. He did this. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but he took my brother away from me, and if I ever see him again, I’m going to kill him.
The first time we saw him was when I broke my arm. It was about a year ago, just after Halloween. We’d both been out to a party the night before; I had managed to lose my keys, and it was only as we approached our front door that Grant decided it was the right time to announce he’d left his keys in the house, assuming I’d have mine. I was quite upset by this, and we had something of a row out there in the front garden, both of us yelling through blistering hangovers. We couldn’t get a locksmith, as that would take hours and cost us a lot of money that, with Grant unemployed and living with me, I did not have. After another few minutes of recriminations, I spotted that Grant had left his window ever so slightly ajar. Normally I would have reminded him that leaving a window open invites burglars, but in this case that was almost exactly what we wanted.
I knocked on the door of the house next to ours. Jim Hancock was not the best of neighbours. He was the closest thing to a cartoon Cockney that I’ve ever met, and had a habit of blasting music loud enough to bleed through the walls of our terraced house. He was, however, a builder, which meant that he would have a ladder. He did and, after having a nice abrasive laugh at our situation, he went and fetched it. He wasn’t interested in helping with the actual entrance to our home, and told us to leave the ladder in front of his garden, apparently unconcerned by the prospect of thieves.
Obviously I was the one going up the ladder. We placed it in the garden, trying to get the end nestled in the crook of the window, and I started to climb. It was less stable than I had anticipated. Grant was gripping it at the bottom, but the ground was softer than I thought, and as I reached for the window, I felt my stomach drop as the ladder pitched slowly to the side. I’d love to say that next thing I knew I was on the ground with a broken arm, but I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. The rush of cold autumn air as I fell. The impact of my arm against the low brick wall. The sickening crunch.
I lay there, my arm in absolute agony, as Grant ran over to check on me. It was clear that the bone was broken and we needed to call an ambulance. My phone had been smashed in the fall, and when I asked Grant to use his, he got very quiet and told me sheepishly that it, like his keys, was still inside the house. Grant started knocking on people’s doors but no-one answered. Maybe they weren’t home, or maybe they had heard our blazing row and didn’t want to help us. Even Jim didn’t seem inclined to open his door a second time. It was becoming more and more clear that our only option was for Grant to climb in and get his phone, and I could see from his pale, frightened face that he had come to the same conclusion.
To his credit, I didn’t have to talk him into it. My obvious agony seemed to do that for me. He hoisted the ladder off the ground and pushed it close to the window. Then he stood there at the bottom, droplets of sweat visible on his face, and looked at me. He placed his foot on the lowest rung and began to climb. It was slow and watching it was almost as painful as my shattered bone. His neck was rigid, stiff with the will not to look down. He was barely ten feet off the ground, and every time the ladder shifted slightly he made a small sound of terror. He kept his face away from me but I think he might have been crying.
It was as Grant was making his gradual ascent that I saw the man with the scar. He was stood there, just across the street, watching us. He was short, and wore an old grey suit, faded with age, that didn’t seem to match his relatively youthful face. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a jagged array of pale white scar tissue that seemed to climb up the side of his neck like a flash of lightning. His pale eyes were entirely focused on Grant making his excruciating way up the ladder. If he noticed me watching him, he gave no sign of it. When I looked at him, I had the strangest feeling, like a wave of dizziness washing over me, and my stomach dropped again, like it had when I fell. I tried to tell myself it was just from the pain in my arm making me feel ill, but it faded every time I looked away from that strange, scarred man who watched my brother.
I looked back to Grant, who was nearly at the top and clearly struggling. His hands were so slick with sweat he was having trouble holding on to the metal rungs, and he was swaying dangerously. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had, but just as I was sure he was about to lose his grip he reached out and got his arm into the open window. He grabbed hold of something inside, and started to pull himself through.
Soon his torso had disappeared into the window, then his legs. Everything was quiet; I suddenly felt very alone. I turned to look at the man with the scar but it seemed like he had decided to move on. I could see him a little way down the street, walking away faster than I would have expected. I just lay there, with nothing to keep me company but the pain of my injury.
Then I heard the sound of the latch, cutting through the silence, and the front door opened to reveal Grant, still soaked in sweat, triumphantly clutching his phone. I congratulated him on overcoming his fear before gently reminding him that the reason we needed the phone was to call an ambulance. He nodded like he hadn’t forgotten, and made the call.
The ambulance and hospital did pass in a bit of a blur. There was an X-ray, and a lot more detail about the specifics of the break than I really thought was necessary for the treatment instructions of “keep it in a cast and try not to move it”. It was irritating, but it wasn’t as if it was the first time I had broken a bone. Time passed, I healed, and I forgot about the strange man who had watched my brother almost fall.
My brother finally got another job shortly before Christmas, with Deloitte again, though a different department, but he didn’t seem inclined to move out of the room in my house. He did offer to cover the rent for a few months, which I did appreciate, as paying it solo had wiped out a good deal of my savings. It wasn’t like I had other housemates lining up to join me, so I resolved to make the best of it and live with his irritating habits. It was fine, you know. We didn’t get on any better than we had when he was unemployed, but without the lingering resentment of money I could just about tolerate his occasional hygiene issues. And life rolled on.
It was about two months ago that I started planning for Paris. There was a conference I was due to speak at, and I hadn’t had a holiday since I broke up with Carly, so I decided to take a full week there to really relax. I did not invite Grant, which you would have thought would make him think twice about coming with me, but you’d be wrong. As soon as I mentioned it to him, he was online checking if there were any more seats on my flight. There were. Then he kept bugging me to change my hotel booking to a twin room until I finally relented and did so. Every time I mentioned something I was planning to do he would invite himself along, generally getting me to arrange it and saying he’d pay me back. I’m sure he intended to, and was just excited to spend some time hanging out in Paris, but at the start of October he lost his job again.
He had been caught smoking weed on company property. It hadn’t been on the clock at the time, and he managed to talk them out of actually calling the police, but he was dismissed on the spot and told in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome to apply for any further vacancies. I imagine he wasn’t going to get a reference, either. He was devastated, of course, and I will admit that I wasn’t as sympathetic as I could have been. From my point of view, it was his own damn fault; because of it I was suddenly on the hook for a reasonable amount of money. It was clear that when we went to Paris I was going to have to pay for him, and he was so despondent that I didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t come.
So that’s why, when we went to Paris three weeks ago, I was both seriously pissed at Grant, and in almost complete control of where we went while we were there. I think that’s why I decided to take him up Tour Montparnasse. There was no way I was going to get him up the Eiffel Tower, but I reckoned, correctly, that he wouldn’t have heard of the Tour Montparnasse, the actual highest point in Paris accessible by the public. It just looked like a normal skyscraper, so I reckoned it probably wouldn’t ring any alarm bells for him until we were actually in the lift.
You’ve got to understand I just wanted to freak him out a little bit. He’d have a bit of a panic, I’d pretend to have forgotten about his phobia, and we’d head back down with me feeling slightly avenged. I couldn’t have known.
At first it was all going exactly according to plan. I was vague about the attraction we were going to see, and he clearly hadn’t heard of the Tour Montparnasse, so he didn’t make any fuss when we went inside, even when we first got into the elevator. As it started to rise, though, I saw the apprehension start to creep across his face and he asked where the lift was taking us. I had to fight to suppress a smile as I told him we were heading up to the best view in Paris and his face started to drain of colour. By the time we reached the top his legs were shaking so badly he was finding it hard to stand. I feigned concern, though inside I was savouring his discomfort more than was probably healthy.
I helped him out of the lift, and he turned around almost immediately, about to get back in, but something about the idea of going back down again so soon clearly caused him to hesitate. He mumbled something about sitting down and collecting his thoughts, and staggered over to a seat a good distance away from the barriers that surrounded the building’s rooftop observation terrace.
I left him to collect his thoughts and walked over to the edge. The view was breathtaking. I could see all of Paris stretching out before me, including the Eiffel Tower. And in the mid-morning sun it was one of the most beautiful and serene things I had ever seen.
It was as I gazed at the majestic city below me that I felt a lurch in my stomach, like I was falling, and I pitched forward into the barrier, bruising my arm and sending an agonising echo of my broken bone shooting up my body. I braced myself on my hands and knees, trying to overcome the sudden swimming nausea in my head. Finally, I managed to centre my vision enough to look up and there he was. There was an icy breeze that high up, but he seemed not to notice as his loose, thin shirt billowed around that sprawling white scar. He stared at me, and I felt again like I was falling right through the floor. I tried to speak, say anything, but my breath seemed caught in my chest. The worst part, though, was his expression. He looked bored.
At some point I felt hands gripping me and I was pulled gently from the floor. It was a pair of tourists from New Zealand who had come over to see if I was alright. I mumbled something about vertigo, though the feeling had faded now. I looked around, but there was no sign of the scarred man. I looked again, and realised with mounting alarm that there was also no sign of Grant. I checked, but the terrace wasn’t huge and there was nowhere for him to be hiding. I thought he must have taken the lift back down, but he wasn’t in the lobby, or outside, or anywhere. He was gone.
I didn’t realise my phone was dead until several hours into the search. When I finally charged it, I had dozens of missed calls from Grant and almost four hundred text messages. Most were too scrambled to read, but those that weren’t were asking where I was. Where anybody was. Where the elevators were.
There was one picture that seemed to have come through without too much corruption: it seemed to show the terrace, but where the barrier should have been was just a sheer drop, with the top of a ladder reaching up and over it. I couldn’t make out the city below it. I tried to call his phone so many times, but whenever it actually connected, all I heard was the sound of rushing wind.
I know that man with the scar took my brother. I don’t know how he took him, or where, but I know he’s gone. I haven’t seen either of them since, and I don’t think I will. It never felt like I was what he wanted. I really hope Grant is dead. Because, if not, I have a horrible feeling deep inside that he’s still on that ladder.
ARCHIVIST
Statement ends.
Michael Crew. The man with the lightning scar. A fractal pattern burned into his flesh, chased by the manifestation of that pattern and then jumped out a window. So what is he now?
It strikes me that whenever a person gains any sort of power from these books, often they change, not just their actions, but who they are. It almost seems as though the power uses them, rather than the other way round. Did Leitner’s book do something to Michael Crew? Others who encountered it reported similar feelings of vertigo to those reported by Mr. Walker, but it also puts me in mind of the fate of Robert Kelly, the skydiver who fell for far longer than he…
[DOOR OPENS]
Hello? Basira, what are you doing here? I thought…
BASIRA
Here.
[SOUND OF A BOX HITTING A TABLE]
ARCHIVIST
Are those the tapes?
BASIRA
As many of them as I could get.
ARCHIVIST
I don’t understand. You said we were done.
BASIRA
[SOUND OF EXASPERATION]
They’re covering it up. Altman’s death. Saying he was dirty. That he got stabbed in a botched drug deal.
ARCHIVIST
Wait. So the operation you went on…
BASIRA
Doesn’t exist. I mean, I didn’t know Leo well, but… it’s not right. And they seemed happy enough to get me out the door.
ARCHIVIST
I still don’t understand why this leads to me getting the tapes. I mean, not that I’m ungrateful.
BASIRA
Well, they’re sure as hell not going to solve Gertrude’s murder, so you might as well have them. Before… I don’t know, maybe I still had enough police in me not to just steal from Evidence, but now…
ARCHIVIST
They’ve rather lost your loyalty. I thought they were watching you?
BASIRA
No, not since the Brodie op. Everyone’s been too busy. Daisy knows, and she’s fine with it. There shouldn’t be any problem until next inventory, and even then it’s only if they can be bothered with the sectioned stuff. You should be in the clear.
ARCHIVIST
I… I don’t know how to thank you.
BASIRA
Well, if I never see you again, or hear about any of this… that’ll be thanks enough. Take care.
[DOOR CLOSES]
ARCHIVIST
Right. I wonder where to start…
[CLICK]
*The man with the lightning scar*
Heh :0 Michael what you up to you groovy basterd
Harry Potter did it >:
Lmao, New Zealand again
"-lightning scar" MICHEAL.
The man with the lightning scar? HARRY POTTER!?
What would he do that to his fucking brother, ignoring the supernatural part... That's an evil thing to do to someone you "love".
Hopefully Basira genuinely doesn't show up again. Tbe best case scenario in a series like this is to walk away and not appear again.
Man heights have issues