[INT. MAGNUS INSTITUTE, ARCHIVES]
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]
MARTIN: Are you listening?
[He takes a deep breath.]
MARTIN: Good.
[We hear him flip through some files.]
MARTIN: Case, uhh, 0071304. Statement of Ivo Lensik.
[He breathes out again, then flicks open a lighter.]
MARTIN: (your loss) Alright.
[He sets the statement alight and lets out a long breath.]
MARTIN: Statement ends, I guess. Um…
[He looks through some more statements.]
MARTIN: Harold Silvana. 0020406. You’ll probably do.
[He lights this statement aflame too. There’s a clear glee in his voice as he continues; what’s up with that?]
MARTIN: All right then. 0140207. Dylan Anderson. Yeah? (pause) Okay.
[He sets it on fire.]
MARTIN: (sing-song) There’s plenty more on the pile…
[There’s a sharp knock-knock-knock at the door. It’s Elias, and he doesn’t sound happy.]
ELIAS: Martin. Martin, open the door.
[He jiggles the doorknob in a fruitless attempt to open it.]
MARTIN: Sorry, Elias. I can’t hear you. There’s - a door in the way.
ELIAS: Martin, I do not have time for this.
MARTIN: Then maybe you should make time.
ELIAS: Unlock the door. Now.
MARTIN: I thought you had a key.
ELIAS: Martin.
MARTIN: I’m not going anywhere.
[Elias knocks once more against the door in frustration, then stalks off, presumably to get the key.]
MARTIN: I would hurry, though, if I were you.
[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]
[INT. WAXWORKS]
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]
[There’s a low, almost windy sort of constant background noise. Everyone (Jon, Daisy, Basira, Tim)’s voices echo a little more than usual.]
DAISY: Come on.
ARCHIVIST: Right.
[He makes a sound of extreme disgust - it almost sounds like he’s straining with something.]
DAISY: Shut. Up. It’s just cobwebs.
ARCHIVIST: There’s no such thing as just cobwebs.
[Everyone around him sighs. Their sighs are weary, as if they’ve heard this, or some variation thereof, before.]
ARCHIVIST: I don’t like it.
TIM: Tough. Is this it?
BASIRA: Yeah. We plant the last of it here, and this place will go up nice.
ARCHIVIST: What’s the range on the detonator?
TIM: Same as the last time you asked.
[In the background we can hear the sound of Daisy unzipping the explosives bag.]
BASIRA: Where is everybody?
ARCHIVIST: Preparing, I - I guess. Haven’t seen any of them since the last of, uh, whatever the hell that was went inside.
[Rustling sounds.]
BASIRA: It’s too quiet.
ARCHIVIST: It could be a trap.
DAISY: And? If it is, I give this a squeeze, no more trap.
BASIRA: And no more us.
[Daisy makes a noncommittal noise.]
TIM: [Don’t fret] it. And anyways, it’s not like we’re alone in here. (Laughs) Look. There’s Prince Charles.
[Everyone groans.]
TIM : Oh, if he’d been in an accident. Or, the Beatles! If they’d all been in separate accidents, like, like Ringo -
[Basira(?) sighs.]
TIM : - was in a horrible fire, or Paul was in a car crash, that’s a classic -
ARCHIVIST: Yes, Tim. I remember them. The waxworks are… bad. (A mechanical sound begins) Just keep an eye on them.
ARCHIVIST: If they start… moving, hit them with an axe.
TIM: Sure.
[Pause.]
BASIRA: Jon…
ARCHIVIST: Yes?
BASIRA: When you were, um, kidnapped, did you leave a tape recorder here?
ARCHIVIST: What? I don’t - I don’t think so, why? Is there -
[Silence as eyes go to the tape recorder.]
ARCHIVIST: Oh.
BASIRA: Yeah.
ARCHIVIST: For god’s sake.
BASIRA: So where did it come from?
ARCHIVIST: Not important right now.
BASIRA: Jon, it’s - d -
ARCHIVIST: Yes, I’m aware.
[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]
[INT. ARCHIVES]
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]
[Rustling of papers. A crackling begins as Martin lights another statement on fire.]
MARTIN: Hello?
ELIAS: What are you doing.
MARTIN: That one, that one was Benjamin Hatendi. You weren’t fast enough with the key!
ELIAS: What. Are. You. Doing.
MARTIN: Oh, I’m sorry, can you not just look into my head? Read my mind?
[The fire crackles.]
MARTIN: What’s wrong? Too busy trying to keep an eye on everything?
ELIAS: Tell me what you’re doing, and why.
MARTIN: I just thought I’d, you know, drop a couple of ideas in the old suggestion box.
[He picks up another statement.]
MARTIN: Turns out my suggestion is…
[He sets it alight.]
MARTIN: Fire.
[Elias sighs in a way that sounds like he’s trying to keep himself from saying or doing something.]
ELIAS: And yet you haven’t set the whole Archives alight. So I assume this is… what’s it called. A cry for attention.
MARTIN: Maybe I just thought it might hurt.
ELIAS: No more than you’re hurting yourself by acting out.
MARTIN: Oh, so that’s it, isn’t it. Martin’s just acting out. I mean, Daisy’s a “rabid dog,” and Melanie’s a potential killer, Tim’s a - a rogue element, but Martin, oh Martin’s just acting out. He’ll have a cry, and a lie down, and feel much better.
ELIAS: (done) And if you’re trying to convince me otherwise, then you are failing. Now, if you’re quite done, I am very busy.
MARTIN: Oh, sorry. Sorry, I’m not - keeping you from the show, am I? Well - well you head back. I’ll keep myself busy here. Albrecht von Closen is next, I think.
[There may be a quiet ‘oh’ in the background here.]
MARTIN: He’s quite an old one. Should go up very quickly.
ELIAS: ##### [Elias takes a deep breath.]
ELIAS: Did Jon put you up to this?
MARTIN: You think I’m doing this for him?
ELIAS: No. It’s just the sort of half-baked scheme he’d come up with, and I am well aware that you’d do just about anything for him.
MARTIN: (overlapping) I would [unintelligible] -
ELIAS: (cutting off) And I don’t need to read your mind for that one.
[Pause.]
MARTIN: Do you really -
[He cuts himself off, composes himself.]
MARTIN: Is it so hard to believe that I hate you as well?
ELIAS: No. It’s just hard to imagine that you would act on it.
[Disbelieving laugh from Martin.]
MARTIN: You think I’m what - I’m, I’m, I’m, um, blind?
ELIAS: Oh, no. You’ve made that quite clear.
MARTIN: So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just, just run around, making tea, while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?
ELIAS: Please get to the point, Martin.
MARTIN: Maybe there isn’t one. Alright? Maybe -
ELIAS: Maybe you’re just wasting my time.
MARTIN: Yeah. Yeah, maybe.
ELIAS: I see. That puts me in a… difficult position.
MARTIN: Good.
ELIAS: You might want to turn the tape off, Martin.
[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]
[INT. WAXWORKS]
ARCHIVIST: How much longer?
DAISY: (through gritted teeth) I don’t. Know.
ARCHIVIST: The others didn’t take this long.
DAISY: The others had clear structural weaknesses. This room doesn’t.
TIM: How hard can it be to blow up one building? All this… stuff!
DAISY: It depends. Lots of other buildings close around it, I was told to be careful.
TIM: Right. Fine.
BASIRA: So would you say this was supposed to be Churchill or Alfred Hitchcock?
[Jon lets out a breath.]
ARCHIVIST: Jowls like that, could be either. I mean, the [unintelligible] is a bit - Tim! Leave it!
TIM: We should know what’s going on. How close they are.
ARCHIVIST: We are not ready yet! If you start opening doors and they see you -
TIM: Are you sure it’s through there?
ARCHIVIST: I, I, I, I’m pretty sure. I saw it a few times while I was here, they’ve knocked through most of the middle, ho-hollowed it out, made a sort of auditorium.
BASIRA: How big?
ARCHIVIST: I don’t know! Big!
BASIRA: I mean, it’s not a huge building.
ARCHIVIST: I don’t know. Tonight was my first time seeing it from the outside. At least in the… flesh. I guess it does seem, m, smaller?
[Silence.]
BASIRA: You’re sure this is the right place?
ARCHIVIST: I am. This is definitely where they kept me. Although I don’t remember quite this many waxworks.
BASIRA: Alright. I just don’t want to get this far and find out we’re in a -
[She’s cut off by a strange music seeming to come from the other side of the door.]
ARCHIVIST: This is the place.
[He takes a shaky breath.]
TIM: We need to see what’s going on in there.
ARCHIVIST: Just ignore it. We have a job to do.
BASIRA: Jesus.
ARCHIVIST & TIM: What?
BASIRA: It moved.
ARCHIVIST: Right, okay, if they’re starting to, ah, We’ve got to go.
BASIRA: No, like - it was just- it’s just a flicker in his eyes. Look at it -
ARCHIVIST: Don’t - Look, if the waxworks are coming alive, we need to go.
BASIRA: Just shut up and look.
[Silence but for the background melody as they do.]
BASIRA: Huh.
ARCHIVIST: Oh god… Oh god, they’re not waxworks.
TIM: What do you - Christ.
ARCHIVIST: Tim, I - I think - I think maybe we had better see what’s going on in there.
TIM: Alright. Alright. On three. (pause) Three.
[They open the door. The music grows louder.]
ARCHIVIST: Oh…
TIM: Holy -
ARCHIVIST: Yes. I suppose it is.
DAISY: Done.
ARCHIVIST: I, um. I think we might need all of it, Daisy. This place is, uh, it’s bigger than we thought.
DAISY: Roger that. Give me a couple of minutes.
ARCHIVIST: S-s-sooner would be better.
[He starts breathing faster.]
TIM: What is it?
ARCHIVIST: Fear fuels everything, of course they need it, for a g-grand ritual…
BASIRA: What the hell is that thing? What’s it doing to them?
ARCHIVIST: I, I think - I used to call it The Anglerfish. It’s - I knew it took the skin, used it to coat people made of sawdust and stuffing, but now - I suppose I thought it just ate the rest. But no. It had a museum to fill with waxworks. And I guess you don’t need skin to sing. (shaky breath) To join the choir.
[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]
[INT. ARCHIVES]
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]
MARTIN: Hm. Sorry. Looks like it wants to know what’s going on.
ELIAS: Hm. A pity. You know Jon listens to all of them.
MARTIN: What, you don’t want him hearing your big evil speech?
ELIAS: Just wanted to spare you the small amount of dignity you have left.
[Martin laughs, but it’s mirthless.]
MARTIN: Dignity? Right, yeah. Like the dignity of being trapped in your flat by worms, or sleeping in the Archives clutching a corkscrew, or, or fetching drinks for the thing that murdered your friend without you even noticing. Laughing, at all their little jokes, then being led to wander impossible corridors for weeks.
ELIAS: (sighing) Are you done.
MARTIN: Not even close. Because, I - (composes himself) I’ve been thinking. It’s not like you got this all-seeing thing recently. You’ve had it the whole time. I remember the way you looked at Sasha after the attack. You knew it wasn’t her. And I reckon you knew Prentiss was lurking under the Institute, too, and you did nothing. Why?
[Beat.]
[Martin slams his hand down onto the desk.]
MARTIN: Why?
[Beat.]
ELIAS: Let’s just get this over with, shall we?
MARTIN: What, like with Melanie? Just that perfect bit of information to leave me a wreck?
[Elias takes a breath.]
ELIAS: Yes.
MARTIN: Well, I hope you’ve got something better than that pathetic dig at my feelings for Jon.
ELIAS: It’s baffling, really. Such loyalty to someone who really treats you very badly.
MARTIN: Oh, is that supposed to be, what, a revelation?
ELIAS: You know, I really should have gone for that. Found something that would finally manage to shatter that precious image you have of him. But, as you say I am very busy at the moment. So I suppose I’ll have to go with what I had prepared.
MARTIN: Do it.
ELIAS: Your mother. She’s always been… difficult, hasn’t she. You take care of her for years, feed her, clean up after her, and now, with her condition degrading even further, she is the one that asked to be moved into a home.
[Martin sucks in a shaky breath.]
ELIAS: To have it left to the nurses. She’s the one that refuses your visits.
MARTIN: She’s a-always been -
ELIAS: Strong-willed?
MARTIN: Stubborn…
ELIAS: No. No, Martin. You know the reason. Your mother simply hates you. You just don’t know why.
ELIAS: It’s not your fault, though I know that isn’t any consolation. Just bad luck, really. How old were you when your father left? Eight? Nine? When your mother began to sicken, and he decided he was done with you both. Not old enough to remember him with any great clarity, especially when your mother refused to keep any pictures of him. She never recovered from that betrayal. He just tore her heart right out and took it with him.
ELIAS: The thing is, though, Martin. If you ever do want to know exactly what your father looked like… All you have to do is look in a mirror.
[Martin’s breathing grows louder and shakier. There’s a vague static in the background, still.]
ELIAS: The resemblance is quite uncanny. The face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life, watching over her. Feeding her. Cleaning her. Looking down on her with such pity.
MARTIN: (tearful) Shut. Up.
ELIAS: You want to know what she sees when she looks at you?
[Both Martin’s sobs and the static grow louder; Elias is transmitting the memories and images straight into his mind.]
MARTIN: (through sobs) Oh god…
[He continues crying as the static keeps going.]
ELIAS: (hissing) Don’t burn any more statements.
[Elias leaves, closing the door to the office behind him as Martin continues sobbing. He’s doing his best to compose himself, and he manages to do so just enough before the door opens again and Melanie comes in.]
MARTIN: Did you find anything?
MELANIE: Uh, yes, I found -
[She finally looks up and sees the state Martin’s in.]
MELANIE: Jesus. Are you okay?
MARTIN: Do we have what we need?
MELANIE: I think so, yes. He didn’t even have a safe, just a few locked drawers. It was - it was easy.
[Martin takes a shaky breath.]
MARTIN: We need to leave.
MELANIE: We need to kill him. Look at you. He needs to die.
MARTIN: No. No, I - I knew what this was gonna be.
MELANIE: It’s not just for you! If we leave him alive -
MARTIN: Melanie. Melanie, please.
[Beat.]
[Melanie sighs.]
MELANIE: Alright. Let’s get these somewhere safe.
[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]
[INT. WAXWORKS]
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]
BASIRA: So what do we do?
ARCHIVIST: We can’t help them.
TIM: So, what, we’re just going to leave them to be skinned alive?
ARCHIVIST: (overlapping) [And] what do you want me to do?!
TIM: Well, you brought me in as a distraction, right?
ARCHIVIST: What?
TIM: Let me do it. Go in, maybe you can get some of them -
ARCHIVIST: Tim, contrary to what you think, I did not bring you here to indulge your death wish.
TIM: That’s not what this is.
ARCHIVIST: No?
TIM: No! You knew I might not be coming back -
ARCHIVIST: I knew none of us might be coming back, and I’m not going to let anyone get killed for nothing!
TIM: Well, except for those people in there.
ARCHIVIST: They’re already dead!
TIM: Not all of them.
ARCHIVIST: (sudden yell, followed by immediate realization of need to whisper) I am not losing you as well!
BASIRA: [unintelligible, overlapping]… Look. Whatever we’re going to do, we need to figure it out. Now.
ARCHIVIST: Fine.
TIM: Look. Jon, I -
DAISY: Done.
ARCHIVIST: What?
DAISY: It’s all ready. Here.
ARCHIVIST: Oh. I - I thought you would want to, uh, do the honors.
DAISY: It’s safer with you. You know when it needs to happen.
ARCHIVIST: Right. Okay, um, c-come on, then. Let’s go. (pause) Tim, come on.
TIM: This isn’t right.
BASIRA: At least it’ll be quick.
ARCHIVIST: Tim, please. We have to go -
[The door creaks open. The music is louder, now.]
ARCHIVIST: Get back.
DAISY: Behind me.
[A new static begins.]
NIKOLA: (over speaker) Will the audience please take their positions?
[The static grows in intensity.]
NIKOLA: The show… has begun.
ARCHIVES TEAM: AAAAH.
[The static grows louder. In the background, the circus music intensifies, with a proper melody and beat finally recognizable. Amidst it all is the Archivist’s breathing, loud and isolated against the background frenzy.]
ARCHIVIST: Jesus…
BASIRA: Get the hell away from me!
TIM: Where’s - no!
DAISY: Don’t move -
ARCHIVIST: Daisy! Daisy, i-it’s me!
TIM: No!
DAISY: I said, don’t move.
ARCHIVIST: Daisy!