Audiobook Narration
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I died. Special agent Samantha Jamison's question was barely audible above beeping hospital equipment. Her fiery hair firmed, her pendant model face and her brilliant green eyes blaze despite the grogginess. Very much. Twice, they said, Air Force Colonel Brock James shook his head. Such a ***** move. Did you even think about how I might feel about that? Who would pay her mortgage? She smiled weakly. It blew. No angels air out of body experiences. I want my money back, Brock Surprise. I was interrupted by the doctor's arrival with nurses and orderlies, and toe visiting hours are over. I'm afraid the gray hair doctor was borderline obese and reeked of cigarette smoke, but was friendly enough. Sadly, there's more poking and prodding heading in your immediate future, young lady. I'm a big fan of being poked, but I prefer this dropping Philo, Sam said, reaching a bandaged arm of two Brocks face. The old doctor, blushed, broke, smiled. I don't mind an audience. The doctor blushed more and orderly, unlocked the wheels on Sam's bed. I'm happy to watch, but we have a date with the FMR I first cognition of reproduction, I'm afraid, given that you've been a little bit that we thought we'd trick for brain damage. I'll tag along. Given the circumstances. Broke helped wheel Sam into the hallway, turning right towards radiology. She gazed up at his unshaven face, swollen eye and split lit. Nice Shiner looks good on you, though, she said. He chuckled, suddenly broke, smile died and the color drained from his face. Oh no, The guard is gone. Same understood instantly what that meant. Run! She felt broke, accelerated to a lopsided sprint, her bed jerking in time with each clump of the cast on his broken foot. Sir, you can't run with her. No sudden move, the orderly stressed, erupted in crimson as a silent slug Thorn to his back. There is heart and out between two ribs. Score splattered Sam's bed sheets. A second shop punctured her intravenous bag and saline solution spilled everywhere. Broke rams Sam's bed through the heavy hallway doors, not slowing toe. Look behind them at the shooter he knew without looking who it had to be, though he didn't know the man's name. A visage of pure evil's forever edged in his memory. Sams exploding ivy backs, licked the floor and broke slipped and fell. A sands bed sailed through the doors. She heard the snap of another bullet flying through the space. Brockett occupied fractions of a second before the bullet shattered a picture on the wall in front of her bed, calling to her attention the fact that the Holy made an abrupt right hand turn five feet ahead of her. Her bed crashed hard into the wall. Sam felt her body rocket forward, twist in midair and slam against the shattered glass of the picture. The wall knocked all the wind out of her, which was just a swell. She would have screamed otherwise, as dozens of glass shards embedded themselves in her back. Dazed, bleeding and unable to inhale, she came to arrest with her left leg trapped between the side rail and the mattress of her bed. Her torso dangled from the side of her bed, hospital down, up around her ears, her bare *** pointed towards the ceiling. Blood rushed your throbbing head, which had cracked against the floor before she could even draw a breath. She felt a pair of strong arms clamp around her torso and hoist her up, broke through her over his shoulder and began to run. Hold that elevator, Brock Shout was clear and strong above the screaming in the hallway behind her, her breath returned and gasps each jerk of Brocks Awkward Spa that's made a full inhalation. Impossible. As the long hallway disappeared around the corner, Sam saw the doorway burst open again. Him a silenced pistol rose two point at her butt broke clumps burn it around the corner into the waiting elevator too quickly to permit another shot from the attacker. A silenced pistol rose two point at her butt broke. Lump sprinted around the corner into the waiting elevator too quickly to permit another shot from the attacker. An eternity later, as if to mock Brocks frantic mashing of the closed button, the doors began to meander together through the narrowing gap. The shooter, snarling face came into view. Sam's ice cold fear pound through her veins. The man lunged, his arm extended to catch the elevator doors to of the shooters, fingers curled around the outer door. But it wasn't enough. The doors closed. Mazzuca filled her ears and Brocks panting and the sobs of the frightened nurse who had helped the elevator for them. The elevator descended two floors before Brock pulled the emergency stop lever. Whatever. You dio Sam gas over the clinging emergency bell. Don't call the damn pops.