Fiction Audiobook Narration
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US South)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
This is a scene of powerful mediocrity. An elegant gathering hall houses hundreds of decrepit men and women in expensive suits, nearly all of them cantankerous, detached board scrawling on note pads and tinkering with portables as some hotheaded figurehead bellows hot air at the podium before them relevant or gibberish. It matters not. His words flow through space lost, heard by all but considered by none. For they've all sided with their respective parties and have more important issues to contemplate what to make for dinner, where to meet for drinks, how to pay for that new boat or window rendezvous with that piece of *** for one more quick lay. The vote itself is preordained, guaranteed to land where it will land. This is the system, and this is how it works. But the red faced, blustering spectacle upfront has ceased his tirade, and the resulting break in flowing sound has already caused some to look away from their papers. In miniature glowing screens. The man at the lectern stands to greet thes new gazes, his fists still bald, sweat locked upon his brow. And yet his eyes remained fixed on something else. Heads turned to follow his slack jawed ogle. And one by one they see the disruption as it strides down the center aisle toward the speaker platform, a cloaked figure with each step devices air pocketed and pens returned. Two desks and raw noise sweeps through the seats, says. Others stand and confusion and voice their contempt for this interloper mawr raise and stare frowns tattooed across their befuddled faces. While they decide what manner of reaction this intrusion requires, the trespasser himself ignores them all, as oblivious to the commotion as those in attendance are to the proposed bill that now lay for gotten on the lips of the Senate speaker. Some cup their ears as the auditorium lights flicker to the sturdy electric hum that envelopes the room, and still the figure moves forward uninterrupted until it last. He stands in the shadow of the centre podium. He turns to face the crowd. Never has there been an audience so unwilling, so perplexed and so captivated, and they can see no face behind the hood, only blackness. He stands in silence, motionless in defiance of their expectations. The collective paralysis of those entranced by this disturbance finally breaks, and nobody seems content to stand leering anymore. The red faced speaker demands an explanation, and his sentiments are quickly echoed in the chamber hall by a number of equally belligerent old senators. Several previously unseen security guards draw inward from the perimeter. Like fresh players from the sidelines of a football field, the hooded encroach ER ignores all of the activity. He raises a hand, not his head, and begins to speak the voice that follows booms so loud and clear that it cuts through any mounting dissent, like a samurai sword through a strand of hair. This is disclosure, he says, allowing his voice to reverberate through the auditorium. In one month, your ineffective order ends in one month. We take over. Take over what? The senator at the podium blurts out. The figure never moves. Everything. Someone arrest this buffoon. Finally, the intruder turns to face the speaker one month, he says, but you'll hear from us sooner and before the crowd can react before there's laughter or shouting or heckling or jeering or anything. The infiltrator is engulfed in bright blue light, not fire, but brighter, pure electricity. Lightning distilled. The audience looks on, unable to believe in this new trickery. but there's no time to consider it. For with a wash that flows through the assembly room, the man disappears.