Ispet Archives has adult language and violence and is not suitable for children. Listener
discretion is advised. Ispet Archives is a Creative Typo entertainment production. If you
enjoy this show, we invite you to support us on Patreon at www dot
patreon dot com forward slash Creative Typo. All levels of membership include ad free
listening and our binge. Here includes access to this complete season. Thank you
for listening, Chapter thirteen, Winter Warning. All right, who's next on
the list of the Hidden? I suggest that next we discuss the guides,
as they're the next group of hidden with which you are most familiar. Yeah,
okay. Guides have a natural intuition for pathfinding in both the physical world
as well as the metaphysical world. They can navigate to almost any desired location
as long as they have the means of travel. They have an uncanny ability
to avoid danger, survive with limited resources, and find locations, items,
or people that they are searching for, and what you would define as a
more supernatural capacity, guides assist individuals that are dying. They comfort them and
ease their passing. They're present with every person that dies. It seems like
a lot. No, not every death only for those individuals that would die
alone with no one to comfort them. In any scenario where a person appears
to have died alone, there was actually a guide alongside to bring them comfort
and help them pass over, pass over to where I am not positive,
but you are for sure saying that there's life after death. There is most
certainly life after death. It may not be in the form that you imagine,
but it exists. Bodies decay, life grows from decay. Plants,
bugs, bacteria, and the earth itself can all benefit and birth life from
the death of a person. That's not what I mean. Your question is
does one's consciousness transfer to a heavenly celestial plane of existence after it leaves the
body here? Correct? Mm, I do not know, and I doubt
September knows. His order simply fulfills their purpose. What purpose is that?
To guide people hastings? Sometimes you're infuriating. September frequently reminds me of that
fact. Fine, how do guides help dying people cross over? I'm not
exactly certain how the mechanics of the process work. There are other researchers within
the chroniclers that have a better understanding of the guides. What I do know
is that they are able to slow time during the moment of the person's passing.
It appears to only impact the person who is dying and the guide that
is connected to them. I believe guides do this by manipulating the independent reality
of the dying person just before death. Within that manipulation, they are able
to project an image and sound that could sue the dying individual. Guides are
able to reshape reality based on these specific laws and circumstances. Well, it's
actually heartworm to know that no one dies alone. It is a fear amongst
many humans. You are likely to find it quite pleasant. I'd presume,
yeah, Hastings, that's a correct presumption. Is there anything else you would
like to know? Yes? I feel like that was barely anything. Like
how do guides know who's about to die? Are guides immortal? If not?
How long do they normally live? Do guides have families? Why do
guides hunt anomalies? Do guides have a religion? I literally know next to
nothing about them. I mean, Jesus, how are they born? They
see markers only visible to guides. No, normally four to five hundred years,
although the oldest guide is just over nine hundred years old in a fashion,
but different than humans because anomalies are dangerous. Some guides have religion and
best that you asked September that last one regarding how they are born. You
may think it is gross Hastings. You are seriously infuriating sometimes between you and
September, I will never forget. Okay, how about this? Why do
guides hate shifters so much? That is a good question. Maybe we should
discuss shifters next. A detective, George Bullard, tossed the folder full of
papers on his desk and collapsed into his cushioned chair. The case inside that
folder should be an open and shut deal. A woman was murdered in her
home. No forced entry. There were signs of a struggle in the kitchen.
The boyfriend was previously convicted on multiple accounts of domestic abuse. His alibis
were holier than Swiss cheese and stink worse than Limburger. Getting the arrest warrant
was probably the easiest thing that George had done all week, and yet he
did not feel good. That was the only word that came to mind for
George. He just wanted to feel good about something. The case would still
take an obnoxious amount of paperwork to get wrapped up. He needed to appear
in court later in the day for a different case. The list of voicemails
on his work phone was getting longer by the hour, and there was absolutely
no desire to talk to any of the callers. He was exhausted. He
felt worn down and lethargic. He couldn't remember the last time he had a
good night's rest, or the motivation to hit the gym for that matter.
It was just a never ending stack of folders, folders that held cases,
murder cases. When had he begun to resent this job? You look like
shit? What was that? I mean, you always look off well.
I can't help with that ugly mugg you call a face, But lately you're
looking like you could scare children. Real funny, I'm serious. Medicine has
come a long way. You're not alone. I'm sure there's a doctor out
there that be willing to take on your case and see your impression of carrot
top doesn't end at the curly hair. I mean, you don't even have
to worry about the pay. I bet they do it for free. Just
ITU helped the whole world if we didn't have to look at you. Just
a full on pro bono case, Davis, Is there something you need?
You just hear a simply bask in my beauty. Seriously, man, you
need a break. When was the last time you took a vacation? I
don't know. When was the last time I visited your mom? Oh?
There he is glad to see you're awake. Shut up, really though,
Please take some time off go visit my mom. Lor No, she needs
a company. You even have a mother? I thought you were spawn from
some monstrosity. Same thing. Quit dodging. Take some time off once I
can put a dent in these cases. There are all always going to be
more cases. Go talk to the chief. Get your name on a week
before all the rookies gobble up the holidays. Yeah, yeahme on it.
Speaking of which, you got any plans for the holidays? Double pay sounds
nice? They're going to work. I don't see why not.'tis the
season for homicide? Morbid but fair? Why don't you take Thanksgiving weekend off
and come spending with me and my family? Will your mother be there?
Hahah One shittier mom joke is about all I can stomach before lunch. Hey,
you started this. Come on, what do you say there with me
the family? Yeah, maybe I'm not much of a holiday person, but
your husband cooks a mean bert. I'll tell him you said. So.
Hey, I have to bounce for the rest of the day. I got
court and I want to grab an energy drink on the way and maybe it'll
pick me up with your old ass heart that's going to kill you. Maybe
then I could skip court. Count that as a win. Oh hey,
before where you go? Someone dropped this envelope on my desk for you.
Just because we're partners doesn't mean I'm gonna start being your personal little male boy.
What is it? I don't know. I have my own files to
go through. I'm not interested in yours unless the chief says I have to
be fair enough. Mmm. What is it? You said you weren't interested?
I said, I'm not interested in reading your mail. I'm still nosy.
It's from Wisconsin, PD Racine. What do those cheeseheads want? Nothing?
They sent photos. It's like still frames from gas station security camera pictures
of who Brett Farvre, Marcus Baker. Oh fuck me? Hiding on Wisconsin
kind of makes sense. Photos are dated from six months ago. Dodd he's
still there. This sounds about right for a Wisconsin PD only six months behind
the rest of the world against Wisconsin. Does you have family there? Yeah,
and they're Packers fans, so they're pretty much dead to me. What
the fuck? What is it? Wu's in that photo? I didn't go
right there? Gas station photo with the front view of the car. Those
two women, yeah, who are they? And one there I don't recognize
this one. That is Emily Swanson, the girl with those two annoying friends.
Yeah. What does the report say? It looks like it's a report
of a murder scene. Emily, No guess and the other woman in the
photo. You need to hand that off to the captain. It isn't your
case anymore. Oh No, I'm serious, George. You need to hand
it to him and walk away. Said, no, no, do it
as soon as I get back from court, George, I gotta go.
Let me know if I get any more mail. Sure, George, I'll
do that. Emily clicked the ad to cart button, placing a second bag
of Dill flavored potato chips into her order. She felt no shame for her
impulse purchases. If she had to be stuck in a house, hiding from
police, the Contra, and whatever else might be hunting her, She would
snack how she danned well pleased. September had told her that she shouldn't go
into town for groceries because it wouldn't be safe. That made sense to Emily,
but she noted that they would still need to eat. September resolved that
concern by leaving her a laptop and one of his credit cards. Emily assumed
that someone as old as September would likely have a lot of money squirreled away.
He owned multiple properties and was at least a few hundred years old.
He had money, she hoped. She clicked proceed to check out, and
then looked over at Marcus. He was sitting on the couch, wrapped in
a blanket and holding a cup of coffee in his hands. That was at
least his fourth cup of the day. Emily thought that seemed excessive, but
she said nothing. He was entitled to his own comfort foods or drinks or
whatever. Instead, she looked back at her laptop screen and clicked order Now.
Grocery orders in and will be delivered tomorrow morning. Great, I should
have asked you to order more. Blankets are you really that cold. Yes,
it's freezing in here. I would hardly call this freezing. My fingers
are ice sickles. You are so dramatic. Weren't you raised in Chicago?
You should be used to the cold. Just because as I grew up in
Chicago doesn't mean I have to be used to the cold or enjoy it.
For that matter, I'm Latino and we aren't meant for this type of weather.
Then turn the heat up. I will once I can get the blood
to circulate in my legs again. Oh my goodness, Marcus, I'll do
it. Are you always this dramatic? You think this is bad? Wait
until I catch a cold. I can only imagine. What does the thermostat
say. It says the heat is set to sixty five, but it's only
sixty inside. Turn it up to seventy. Okay, wait, no,
make it seventy five. It's not like we pay the bills here and September
and Hastings can cover the cost of a little extra heat. All right,
seventy five? It is happy. Yes, thank you, I am going
to light the fireplace all right. Speaking of September and Hastings, how do
you think they're doing. I'm sure, they're just fine. Yeah, I'm
sure, I guess. I mean, what do you think they're doing at
the Chronicle archives. I assume they're trying to figure out how your powers work.
If that was in the archives, don't you think Hastings would already know?
Maybe maybe not. Maybe Hastings is a peon like us and he doesn't
have access to everything. I guess that could be true. Maybe he's trying
to find out more information about you, or maybe he's reporting back what he
learned about you, and they're going to continue to study us like laborrats.
I don't think Hastings is reporting on us. From the way he in September
talked, it seems like they're breaking the rules by keeping us alive. I
do have a theory about all this. What's that? What if ISFAT isn't
really chaos after all? Maybe you're just very powerful and they use ISFET as
an excuse to keep anomalies controlled. Chroniclers can't lie, though, So if
Hastings says is FET is chaos, then it is. You said the chroniclers
can't lie, but they can give misinformation, right, Yeah, So if
Hastings is a peon with the chroniclers. Maybe he has been manipulated to believe
that Isfat is chaos. It could be a loophole by his leaders. Maybe
they lie through omission, and the rest of the chroniclers just believe the misinformation.
That seems like a lot of work to manipulate each other, and the
chroniclers don't really seem like they work that way. You've only met one so
far, and he's strange. You can't make a decision about all chroniclers based
off what we know about Hastings, right, I mean, that doesn't really
make sense. It could all be a ruse. You're right, but I
need to believe that Hastings in September are good and that they're here to help.
I mean, what other option do I have right now? True?
Sorry, I didn't mean to stress you out. You didn't I'm fine.
I'm just curious what they'll find in the archives. I'm sure they'll find something
useful, maybe something to do with why you can see different colors in your
lines, or how to decipher these dreams, or how to make me normal
again? Marcus, what I don't want this. I don't want to be
special or a harbinger or whatever I am I want to go back to the
way things were, even if that means going back to jail probably prison.
And what about all the lives you can potentially save with your visions? I
mean if you went back to being normal and I stayed an anomaly, I
could potentially hurt people, a lot of people, just like at the police
station. You don't know that the police station was your fault, Marcus.
We do know that maybe they can make you normal again as well. No,
Marcus, I'm not a human. I never was. They can't change
me back to something that I never was to begin with. This is my
normal. Well, I am human, a human with powers. Would you
really give those powers up, even if it meant giving up the ability to
save thousands of lives? Yes, that's selfish. So what if it's selfish?
Why should I help them? Why isn't my responsibility? Those people don't
give a shit about me or you. They would gladly toss me in prison
and throw away the key. Marcus. It wasn't my choice to have these
powers either. I'm sorry this is happening to us, but we can't change
this. And maybe you're right, maybe those people don't deserve our help.
Maybe you'll never be recognized as a hero and people will always see you as
a criminal. But you're the only thing keeping me from hurting the people around
me. That makes you the most important person in the world to me,
at least until you find the next harbinger. Marcus. I'm sorry, I
I really am. Maybe it's just that I'm stuck in this house. It's
so cold outside, and I'm just overwhelmed. I feel trapped, and unfortunately
you're the only person for me to vent too. It's okay, I get
it. How about we give this topic a break for a little bit.
I'll grab us a bottle of wine and we can enjoy the fireplace. I
heard the heater kicked on, but doesn't seem to be getting any warmer in
here yet, so I'll grab a few more blankets too. As Emily returned
to the common room with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses
in the other, she noticed that Marcus had not moved closer to the fireplace.
Hay stood in front of the couch and lightly swayed back and forth as
she opened her mouth to tease him for whining about the cold. She was
stopped short by the sight of her friend. Marcus had gone quiet while she
opened the bottle of wine and grabbed the glasses. Emily had assumed that he
was simply stewing on their conversation, but now she could see something was wrong.
His eyes were wide open and had gone completely blue. They were not
a nimbus blue like one would see in a cartoon or supernatural television show,
but instead they looked as if the iris had expanded to cover his entire eyeball.
This would be eerie enough, but Emily knew that Marcus didn't have blue
eyes. His eyes were naturally brown, dark brown in Marcus's own perception.
He had walked across the room to stand in front of the fire as Emily
had left to get the wine. The fire felt wonderful. For the first
time in days, he actually felt warm. He heard a sudden knock at
the door and twisted his head over his left shoulder to peer down the hallway.
Emily had opened the door already. How was fast. She must have
been standing near the entrance for some reason. As the door finished swinging open,
Marcus's stomach sank. The creature standing in the doorway was not human.
The entity was a faceless monstrosity. Horror struck. Marcus attempted to call out,
but fear gripped his throat, choking the noise from his lips. The
faceless thing lifted its left hand. In its hideous claw rested a red apple.
The scene reminded Marcus of a picture book he had as a child,
when the Bruja gave the poisoned apple to snow white. Just like the princess
in the story, Emily could not see the danger. She wasn't afraid of
the creature, nor to take the apple. As Emily lifted the apple from
the monstrous left hand, the creature lifted its right hand to display three raised
fingerlike claws. Marcus knew that was important, but didn't know why. Emily
turned to show the apple to Marcus. Her face was pleasant and smiling.
She said Marcus's name in an urgent, fearful tone. Her voice did not
match her smile. She sounded panicked, but appeared calm. The creature behind
her lowered its right arm and lifted its chin. The featureless face split down
the middle from top to bottom. Sharp razor blades layered the inside of its
mouth. They didn't look like teeth, but instead were flat and thin like
actual razor blades. Marcus finally was able to let out a warning screen for
Emily to move away from the demon, but it was too late. The
creature sank its rows of razors into Emily's shoulder, neck, and chest.
Its maw was huge, and the bite tore through her body with ease.
As the monster ripped flesh away from Emily's torso, the nearby kitchen table began
to lift from the ground and rise into the air. Emily again shouted Marcus's
name, for her expressions still did not match the scene, and her voice
seemed more concerned for him than her own well being. Only seconds later,
more items began to rise. Furniture, the kitchen island, the stove,
the walls, and eventually the house in its entirety all lifted into the sky,
leaving only a patch of flooring beneath Marcus. The creature's mouth sank back
into Emily's body a second tie and latched on. Emily did not even struggle
as the creature drained her life away. The house formed into a large,
melded structure that resembled an upside down pyramid. The tip of the inverted pyramid
hung just above the creature's head and back. Just as Emily closed her eyes
and exhaled her final breath, the reconstructive pyramid house collapsed down on the creature
and Emily. Even though Emily was clearly dead, he could still hear her
calling his name, Marcus. Marcus. Marcus woke to find Emily standing directly
in front of him, lightly shaking his shoulders and wearing a panicked expression.
Jesus Marcus, with the fu was that I I had a vision, and
I think I know what it means. Agent Dubois and Agent Blanc of the
Contra's thirty first Division were dispatched to a lovely little town named Dover, Wisconsin.
The partners flew into O'Hare, then took a puddle jumper to Milwaukee,
where they rented a car and drove the rest of the way to the Contra
owned cabin just outside the Eagle Lake area. By the time the two agents
arrived at the cabin, the police had come and gone. The entrance was
barred with a yellow police tape that announced to all that the cabin was the
scene of a crime and common folk are not allowed entrance, as was their
custom. The two agents ignored the tape and investigated the cabin. They recovered
the surveillance cameras that had been hidden in the wall, as well as the
local hard drive that stored the camera footage. This case would likely remain unsolved
by the Racine County Sheriff's Department, but it would be no fault of their
own. They simply didn't know what they were looking for. On the other
hand, agents Dubois and Blanc did know, and they would find their marks
and eliminate them. Hastings in September were a duo that were well known among
the contra. The Chronicler and Guide had been around for multiple lifetimes and had
been in the center of several catastrophic events. When Agent Harp was deployed to
Chicago, she was not aware that the two in humans she would need to
kill were September and Hastings. She was a young agent and didn't have enough
experience to take on those two. It wasn't her fault, and it wasn't
h q's fault. No one could have known that they were the ones in
Chicago, at least that is what Dubois noted in the files. As they
traveled back to the Windy City. In Chicago, the agents connected the police
department explosion to Emily Swanson. They also investigated the Last Trip cafe, made
connections with Emily's friends Sam Wilson and Amber Lange, and found ties to Marcus
Baker and his extended family. The two spent several months looking for anything that
would constitute a solid lead, but September knew how to cover his tracks.
It wasn't until Blanc hacked the cafe's banking information and found credit card transactions belonging
to September that the two were able to pick up the trail. HQ was
able to run that credit card number for additional activity and found a happy little
path leading all the way to Montana. The agents rented a new car,
checked out of their hotel, and left Chicago for Montana. Blanc dreux while
Dubois booked their next hotel and submitted their current report back to HQ. As
dictated by Contra's standing operating procedures, most of the critical details were handwritten on
paper and housed in a folder. They would send some information digitally, but
key pieces of information would only be hand delivered. A little bit of healthy
paranoia was good for a secret agency of Contra's nature. While the agents did
not know exactly where September was staying, they were confident that he was with
Hastings, Marcus, and Emily. Why the inhumans hadn't killed the anomaly yet
was another oddity, but maybe it had something to do with her chaos.
They would find out the answers to all their questions after they got to town
and did some investigating, or so they had planned. Dubois and Blanc had
been in town for a little over twenty two hours before shit hit the proverbial
fan. By our twenty three, the corpses of agent Dubois and Blanc were
stacked in the bathtub of their shared motel room. A third corpse, one
wearing a grocery delivery uniform, sat propped up on the toilet in that same
bathroom. All three men were killed in a similar fashion, with deep cuts
across each throat and midsection. Gore was splattered across the floors, beds,
lamps, walls, and ceiling. The gruesome image was sure to scar whatever
cleaning crew discovered this mess tomorrow morning. The assassin tilted the head of the
third corpse and then looked back into the mirror. They were satisfied with the
job they had done with their predator's grace, they silencedly glided out of the
bathroom, turning off the light and closing the door behind them. They picked
up the file that du Bois had been using to collect case notes, and
then exited the motel, leaving the carnage behind. As the motel door closed,
the assassin reached down to collect the ball cap that the delivery driver had
dropped. They brushed at a speck of blood on the hat, the speck
into a more noticeable smudge. Murder can be so messy sometimes. They placed
the cap on their head, pulled the car keys out of their pocket,
and began to whistle a cheerful tune as they made their way to the car.
Emily Swanson is voiced by Titia Zeng. Marcus Baker is voiced by Nico
Rodriguez. Hastings is voiced by Adam Culbertson. Detective George Bullard is voiced by
Anthony Kinney. Detective Davis is voiced by Glenn Michael Sexton and narrated by Michael
cole espt Archives was written by Nico Rodriguez in collaboration with Tisha Zang. The
ESPT Archives is a creative type of entertainment production. Find out more about our
show at www dot creative typo dot com. A very special thank you to
our executive producers from Patreon, Nick Mead and Patrick t Arsenal