Tags:
audiobook
thriller
action
adventure
psychological
fiction
Script:
The Born Identity by Robert Ludlam. The traces are there, the markings, that's evidence. Interpreted by you, with a heavy dose of cynicism thrown in. Suppose I had an accident and was patched up, that would explain the surgery. Not the kind you had. Dyed hair and the removal of clefts and moles aren't part of a restoration process. You don't know that, said the unknown man angrily. There are different kinds of accidents, different procedures. Good, get furious with me. You don't do it half often enough. And while you're mad, think. What were you? What are you?
Tags:
audiobook
self help
motivational
business
non fiction
Script:
The Happiness Advantage by Shawn Achor So I set out to find the students, those 1 in 5 who were truly flourishing. The individuals who were above the curve in terms of their happiness, performance, achievement, productivity, humor, energy, or resilience, to see what exactly was giving them such an advantage over their peers. What was it that allowed these people to escape the gravitational pull of the norm?
Tags:
audiobook
fantasy
action
adventure
fiction
Script:
The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. I began to admit impossible truths to myself. The Chandrian were real. Haliax was real. If the story Scarpy had told was true, then Lanre and Haliax were the same person. The Chandrian had killed my parents, my whole troop. Why? Other memories bubbled to the surface of my mind. I saw the man with black eyes, cinder, kneeling in front of me. His face expressionless, his voice sharp and cold. Someone's parents, he had said, have been singing entirely the wrong sort of songs.
Tags:
audiobook
video game
manual text
science fiction
sci-fi
characters
Script:
Primary booster burn has ceased. Shuttle Murata, you're clear for orbital maneuvering. The Murata lurches from its bay on the back of its powerful rocket booster. After the jolting of the separation ceases, you find yourself pondering the fate of the colony receding below you. With apprehension, the same apprehension you felt 322 years earlier, you envision Marcus Tiberius Buendia, one of Sol's greatest leaders. Mankind will venture out past its earthly bounds, and move into a future grander and more real than the total of its own written history. Buendia, the president of the Unified Earth Space Council, had spoken those words to the people of the Sol System on the eve of the launching of the Marathon. This, the grandest achievement mankind has ever conceived, will be for the purpose of peace and the preservation of the human race. May this great technological arc carry with it the sum total of all human wisdom, and may neither time nor distance weaken our common ties. Decompress the docking bay. During the daydream, you barely notice the change to zero gravity, or the instruments and lights signifying the rendezvous of the shuttle with the Marathon. But as a warning light goes on, and Durandal's voice comes over the communicator, you jump to attention. Docking bay one. Decompression completed. Murata, this is Durandal. Abort landing. Repeat, abort landing. A faint chuckle. A chuckle which means that something has gone horribly wrong. Immediately, your reflexes take over as you fall into automatic response mode. You hit the switch for open communication. Colony station. Durandal just decompressed the landing bay. Marathon. Anyone listening? We are having a problem with docking bay one. It's Durandal. I think he's gone. The comm light goes dead. Crazy. Order. Lock out communications between the colony and the shuttle. Order. Cycle the shuttle airlock. You look frantically around the control panel for some explanation when you see another light on the panel turn red. The sweet voice of the shuttle computer twerps. Shuttle airlock cycle. Initiation sequence start. Cycle the Murata cabin's inner door. One minute to cabin decompression. God damn it! You slam your fist in frustration onto the control board, leaving a dent. In a panic, you tear off your seat restraints and leap for the rear of the shuttle cabin. Forty seconds to cabin decompression. You are rushing now, but you know that you have plenty of time. You fly in zero gravity towards the locker holding your battle armor. You haven't worn it since you had to hunt down some Chocosins which were harassing the work teams on the fringe of the colony almost three years ago, but training is something that you never forget. It's funny, but you've always been the colony's troubleshooter. You're bigger and stronger, and a better shot. In games, you always scored the most points and looked the hero. And now, it looks as if you're heading right into the colony's biggest crisis since it was established seven years ago. You nimbly pull yourself into the suit. Thirty seconds to cabin decompression. And pull the helmet onto your head. Order. Prepare the shuttle for maximum engine burn. But that will result in a collision between the Marathon and the Marata. That is not your concern. Order. Prepare shuttle for maximum burn. And initiate when ready. The lights around the airlock are flashing hysterically now. The air from your suit has a cold, stale taste, but it is the taste of life. Cabin decompression commencing. Shuttle airlock cycle initiation sequence completed. Gray-white decompressing vapor fills the cylindrical passageway of the airlock. Through the degenerating clouds of the airlock passageway, instead of looking upon the Tau Ceti Starscape, you see the Tonsur Mirage effect. Space, blurring and focusing in diminishing cycles. The TME is commonplace to you. Humanity has used teleporters for almost 500 years, and you yourself have been teleporting since before you were born. But you've never seen the TME cover an area so big before. And never at all without a landing pad. And yet another first. A space fighter materializes right in front of your eyes. Since you don't recognize the model, it must be an alien ship. First, an insane computer. And now, aliens. This has almost ruffled your otherwise calm outward appearance. And you don't remember the last time you had such a terrible day. But it gets worse when the fighter begins to spin around and yaw down on you and your defenseless marauder. Maximum burn in five seconds. Three. Two. One. You don't wait to hear the rest of the countdown. Instinct acts on its own. The entrance to the maneuvering pod is directly behind you, so you punch the switch for it to open. The hatch flips down, but just as you're about to climb in, the marauder's main engines fire at maximum burn. The jolt sends you crashing headfirst into the pod, where you land in a tangle of levers, dials, and limbs. The hatch closes behind you, and before you can untangle yourself, a missile appears from under the alien fighter and speeds towards the marauder. The marauder onboard computer, detecting the incoming missile and knowing that you are already on board the MP, fires the emergency deployment charges. You're rocketed away, seeming to ride the shockwave of the exploding shuttle. You have just freed your arms when over the battle armor communicator, Durandal remarks dryly, That little computer always did have impeccable timing. I wonder if I should let the aliens know that you aren't just space debris. Hmm... You can't do that! Damn you, computer! Durandal chuckles again. Ah, lucky you. I found a new distraction. I am going to play with the alien virtual parasites. I'll look you up when you arrive. You can almost imagine the face of a wicked computer, with its eyes wide and its lips folding out in a grotesque smile. A smile which reminds you of something from your past, but you can't remember exactly what it is. You breathe a sigh of relief and begin to survey your situation. You are currently floating towards the midsection of the Marathon, near the docking section's port side. You could get there faster, but if you use the pod's thruster, chances are that the aliens will detect it and destroy you. So you sit back, check the pod's oxygen levels, and wait. You've always been a daydreamer. Your mind has constantly filled the time between activities with imagination. Now, you fall into your old habit, and begin to daydream about your childhood on Mars, your father's death when you were seven, and his last words to you. Make me proud. Never lose your honor. You come out of your dream 22 minutes later. Judging it safe, you thrust over to one of the empty MP docking bays. You pull out your pistol and pound the switch to open the door. Oddly, this is familiar to you, as if it were from an old dream, but you can't exactly remember.
Tags:
audiobook
medical
fasting
non fiction
articulate
professional
confident
Script:
During glycolysis, which occurs in the cytoplasm, glucose is converted into two pyruvate molecules, releasing adenosine triphosphate and nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide in the process. During the second step, which occurs in the mitochondrial matrix, pyruvate is oxidized into acetyl coenzyme A, an additional molecule of nicotinamide padenine dinucleotide, and carbon dioxide. The acetyl coenzyme A is then used in the Krebs cycle to produce adenosine triphosphate and more carbon dioxide, nicotinamide padenine dinucleotide, and flavin adenine dinucleotide. Note that the Krebs cycle is also known as the tricarboxylic acid or TCA cycle or the citric acid cycle, but going forward, we will simply refer to it as the Krebs cycle. Finally, oxidative phospholation, which occurs in the mitochondria and includes the electron transport chain and chemiosmosis, uses the molecules of nicotinamide padenine dinucleotide and FADH2 from the previous reactions to make water and much more adenosine triphosphate. In total, one glucose molecule generates 38 molecules of adenosine triphosphate.
Tags:
audiobook
fantasy
childrens
fiction
adventure
fairy tale
Script:
His sobs woke Wendy, and she sat up in bed. She was not alarmed to see a stranger crying on the nursery floor. She was only pleasantly interested. Boy, she said courteously, why are you crying? Peter could be exceedingly polite also, having learned the grand manner at fairy ceremonies, and he rose and bowed to her beautifully. She was much pleased and bowed beautifully to him from the bed. What's your name? He asked. Wendy Moira Angela Darling, she replied with some satisfaction. What is your name? Peter Pan. She was already sure that he must be Peter, but it didn't seem a comparatively short name. Is that all? Yes, he said rather sharply. He felt for the first time that it was a shortish name. I'm so sorry, said Wendy Moira Angela. It doesn't matter, Peter gulped. She asked where he lived. Second to the right, said Peter, and then straight on till morning. What a funny address. Peter had a sinking. For the first time, he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.
Tags:
audiobook
psychological
thriller
spiritual
spectral
horror
gothic
fiction
moody
Script:
No portion of the masonry had fallen, and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still-perfect adaptation of parts and the crumbling condition of the individual stones. In this, there was much that reminded me of the specious totality of old woodwork, which has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from the breath of the external air. From this indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure which, extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn. Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the house. A servant-in-waiting took my horse, and I entered the gothic archway of the hall. A valet of stealthy step thence conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already spoken. While the objects around me, while the carvings of the ceilings, the somber tapestries of the walls, the ebony blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy, while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this, I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the staircases, I met the physician of the family. His countenance, I thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master. The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. The windows were long, narrow and pointed, and at so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inaccessible from within. The subtle gleams of encrimsoned light made their way through the trellised panes and served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominent objects around. The eye, however, struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of the chamber or the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many books and musical instruments lay scattered about but failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all. Upon my entrance, Usher rose from a sofa on which he had been lying at full length and greeted me with a vivacious warmth which had much in it. I at first thought of an overdone cordiality, of the constrained effort of the Inuit man of the world. A glance, however, at his countenance convinced me of his perfect sincerity. We sat down, and for some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely, man had never before so terribly altered in so brief a period as had Roderick Usher. It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to admit the identity of the man being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. Yet the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of complexion, an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond comparison, lips somewhat thin and very pallid but of a surpassingly beautiful curve, a nose of a delicate Hebrew model but with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations, a finely molded chin speaking in its want of prominence of a want of moral energy, hair of a more than web-like softness and tenuity. These features, with an inordinate expansion above the regions of the temple, made up altogether a countenance not easily to be forgotten.
Tags:
audiobook
sherlock holmes
mystery
detective
characters
british
accent
french
fiction
Script:
I shall, however, do my utmost to help you in unmasking your antagonist. However, I must insist upon one thing, M. DuPont. You must reveal to me all you know." "'I have told you everything.' "'I do not think so,' Holmes icily replied. "'You identified the person stalking you as he a moment ago, almost as though you know precisely who is responsible for these acts against you. If you gave me some indication of who this man might be, I can go a long way towards clapping irons around his wrists.' André DuPont sucked in another deep breath. "'I know of only one man who would have caused such misfortune on me,' he murmured. "'But that man is dead. I am sure of it. Nevertheless, tell me about him, M. DuPont.' DuPont leaned back in his chair and, for an instant, the ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. "'You will notice,' he began, "'that I am a collector. These paintings on the walls are all originals. Are you an art enthusiast yourself, M. Holmes?' "'I can appreciate a Bond Street art gallery as well as the next,' Holmes replied. I cast my friend a quizzical glance, silently asking him what this could possibly have to do with the matter at hand. Holmes met my eyes and seemed to silently address me, saying that all would become clear in time.