Salem Hawley
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Salem Holly Siri's audition, read by Isabella E. Pascual. The young woman stays. It's binds, cut with a surgeon's scalpel, sat in a heap on the floor. Benghazi dress had been tossed to sign. Eyes closed. She lay atop the table. Thick leather straps secured her wrists and feet either end her dark scarlet hair hung and loose, springy curls around her face. The wound to her head and the blood that had issued forth from her scalp were hidden beneath the sprightly mound. Her name was unimportant to the man standing over her. Her profession was equally irrelevant, as was a means by which she had been procured. Jonathan here for, had paid $12 to the team of Resurrection ist he routinely hired to bring him bodies. Whether the bodies were living or deceased when the resurrection has procured them made little difference to him. As the end result for the bodies was the same. The woman's eyelids fluttered, chasing consciousness like a moth to an evening light in the flickering candlelight, illuminating the room when I twitched open follows slowly by the other. Her mouth tried to form words around a wooden bite block. Then, as the site of the figure. Before her crystallized, she tried to scream. Her teeth and mouth worked furiously to dislodge the bite block already well scored by dozens of sets of teeth. But the hunk of wood was wedged, tightly affixed to restraining, shaking head by leather straps buckled behind her school, spit leaked from the corners of her mouth, straining the wet wood block. Her eyes were open wide in disbelief and a freckled face contorted with fear, her lips pinched against the bite block as her nostrils flared, her breathing hedge through her nose. In a loud, windy panic, a slender man draped in a thick, waxed overcoat stood over her, his hands gloved in shiny black leather to match the coat. His face was hidden behind a large beaked mask. She shook her head and violent denial, the cords of her neck standing on end as she strained against her. Bonds here for knew what she was saying. He understood the fright. She felt that she caught sight of a reflection in the black glass eyes on either side of the long pointed beak. He saw similar reflections in the eyes of the mass around him when her eyes finally found the blade, her bladder empty. Here, Fritz said, not a word. Ignoring her, he turned to his five similarly dress companion, standing opposite the operating table, half hidden in the shadows as the number of candlelight failed to fully reach them, begin a software directed here for tilted his head. In acknowledgement of the command beneath the mask, he smiled. Curiosity overcame the woman's fear, if only briefly, and she turned toward the voice. A tiny flicker of hope touched her eyes, then fell immediately. The site of the beak masks her supine for mirrored in each darkened islands, was enough to rekindle her horror. The five played doctor stepped fully in the light encircling her. Their faces leaned in Cox slightly bird like to take in the death of her hope and relish the fright that seized her. Her screams were muffled by the bite block as she again tried to free her arms and legs, but the straps stuck her faster. The table hopelessness washed through her. As the gallery of Birdman wants her choke backer Psalms. One figure leaned in closer, nearly beat to nose with her, and she could almost he passed a reflection in the darkly tinted glass of the eyepiece. But what she saw only quicken the pace of her nightmare. She caught a glimmer of a dark I hungry and lecherous here Foodsaver, the site of the naked woman, his birth quickening as his ***** lumbers life. He studied her milky pale skin and the smattering of freckles across her face, chest and limbs. Her nipples were such a soft pink that they nearly disappeared into the creamy complexion of the fatty mounds surrounding them. Her large breasts had fallen to either side of her ribs, and his eyes fall of the Delhi curve of her belly, down to the deep triangular patch of bright red hair between her shapely thighs. Behind the mask, he smiled in anticipation. She fought against the restraints, thick ropes of saliva trailing down from the bite block to pool at her neck. He did not need to understand the words to know she was urgently begging him. Her heart would be racing. He knew the blood pounding through her veins to create a thunderous pulse. Even through the old leather, he could feel the maniacal pumping of her heart as he pressed his palm to her sweats like chest beneath the mask here first smiled and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of lemon and herbs housed in the beak, his growing eight for release, He pressed the scalpel to her chest, the blade biting into skin just beneath the hollow of her throat. In one fluid motion, he got a clean, straight line down to rip you this. The woman fought harder, her screaming louder and pain. He had opened the flesh down to the muscle. Her body needed a moment to understand what happened. Then blood began to pool in the wound and overflow the edges of the fresh trench sheeting across her torso. He made a second deeper past to cut through the muscle. Her had lurched off the table, her teeth embedded in the wooden block. She held around it, red faced and soaked in sweat. Here for his fingers dug into the Nero wound, widening the gaps. He spread apart the woman's flesh. Her school crashed into the tabletop, and she went still once more. He wondered if she had knocked herself unconscious or merely passed out from the extraordinary pain. He pried away the meat from her sternum, exposing the bone and then reached for his chisel and hammer. He made several solid blows down the length of bone cracking open her chest, then inserted a metal hinge stained a ruddy brown from old blood. He cranked it, sir, that the jaws spread her ribs wide with a rusty squeal inside her chest. Cavity beater. Purple Heart. The organ was a frenetic muscle, chaos and fury bound into beating purpose as the tissues and either side flexed the hard bouncer. Then it's thin, pericardial sac jangling with wild intent around the space afforded it within the Medi Aston. Um, it was rhythmic and beautiful, a perfect organic machine. It jogged insanely, like a hair driven, mad with fear and seeking escape from the butcher's block. He cuts swiftly, severing the organ from its roots. Within the Jurassic Compartment, his gloved fingers slid beneath the heart as it slowed and pumped its last. Then he pulled it free. Few things in life he had discovered were as satisfying as holding a human heart in one's own hand, and it sent a ripple of pleasure through him Quickly. Now, a soft voice demanded. The beach doctor turned swiftly to the laboratory table behind them, where he placed the heart and imetal construct wires left from the small vertical cage to a nearby voltaic pile. He twisted a knob on the cage to push a pair of small metal disk into place on either side of the heart, completing the electric circuit. The muscles of the organs twitched in jiggered, forcing unenthusiastic outs of blood trapped within the heart's chambers from the shortened arteries. It works, a woman said. Soda vocci, the beak. Doctors exchange glances in turn, some nervous, others broiling with excitement. All eyes turned her doctor, Richard Bailey, as they waited his final judgment. At last, he said, we can begin.