Hypnosis Microphone の小説・ストーリー

she says, distracting me from her ample cleavage and getting me to look at her eyes. “The person under hypnosis doesn’t always remember once they wake, that’s why Ben’s ability to tap into your mind in this way is so helpful too,” Diana furthers. “Control your breathing, nice slow in and out. The magic word is going to be skunk, when I say that, you’ll wake. It’s a word that gets everyone’s attention,” she whispers, as I settle into a rhythm and relax, still breathing in the aromas around me. Ben begins speaking in what I guess is Italian or something? I barely know French, I don’t know any other languages but I definitely like it.

The only thing left in the center of the open floor was a pair of high-fidelity Shure SM7B microphones mounted on iron desk stands, their black cables snaking across the grease-stained wood toward a portable four-channel digital recorder that was currently running on six AA batteries. "The volume's dipping, Sie," Sophie said. She was standing by the massive four-meter-high windows, her back pressed against a raw brick pillar that still carried the charred scoring of a 1912 textile fire. Her fingers were wrapped around a paper cup of stale black coffee, her eyes tracking the movement of a pair of unflagged black utility vans that had been idling near the corner of Varick Street for forty-five

"Miss Jackson, are you sure you want to undergo hypnosis? You should know that once it begins, it's irreversible. Your body will be controlled by an alternate personality, and you'll fall into a sleep from which you'll never wake up," the doctor asked gravely over the phone. "Yes, I'm sure," Nina replied calmly. Before the call ended, there was a sudden noise at the door—Lucas Spencer had returned. Nina hung up and silently walked to the living room.