“Charmed Noir” Introduction from the TV show, Charmed Voice Over Script
It was a very cold and foggy night. The clock had just struck midnight. Thick fog covered everything, making the streetlights look dim and ghostly. The police station, usually busy, was unusually quiet. Only the soft, constant hum of the heating unit broke the silence.
The fluorescent lights flickered now and then, casting long shadows across the room. Inspector Davis was sitting at his desk, his face lit by the cold, bright light. His tired eyes were focused on the endless paperwork in front of him. The boredom of the night shift weighed heavily on him.
Suddenly, the phone rang, breaking the silence. Davis slowly reached out to pick up the receiver.
“Inspector Davis speaking,” he said, his voice steady but tired.
A nervous voice crackled on the line. “Hello, Inspector. We’ve received a call from an apartment on Elm Street. A woman reported something very disturbing next door. She mentioned a bad smell and sounded really scared. We think you should check it out immediately.”
“Did she say anything specific about the smell or anything unusual?” Davis asked, his concern growing.
“She was too scared to give details. She sounded terrified. Can you go check it out?” the voice on the other end urged, clearly worried.
“Understood. I’ll go there right away,” Davis replied. He hung up the phone, the receiver making a soft clunk. His face hardened with determination as he grabbed his keys and headed out.
When Inspector Davis parked his car and approached the apartment, he noticed something standing in the shadows on the first floor, holding a book in its hand. It was staring at Davis intensely, its eyes fixed on him in an unnerving way. Davis called out, “Who are you?” But the figure remained silent, its stare unbroken and piercing. A chill ran down Davis’s spine. Shaking off the unease, he took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the first floor. When he arrived, the mysterious figure was gone, leaving no trace.
As Davis reached the second floor, he found the woman who had called the police standing outside the door. She looked pale and anxious, her eyes wide with fear. Her hands trembled as she pointed to the apartment, her voice barely above a whisper. “There… there’s something in there,” she said, her voice shaking. “The smell… it’s gotten worse.”
Inspector Davis nodded, trying to reassure her with a calm expression, though he felt a chill running down his spine. He turned the key in the lock and slowly pushed the door open, the hinges creaking loudly. The smell hit him immediately—a sickening, overpowering odor that made him gag.
The room was pitch dark, with a heavy gloom pressing in from all sides. Inspector Davis reached for his flashlight and switched it on. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing a scene that made his skin crawl.
The light fell on a horrific sight. There, on the floor, was a man, his body cut into six pieces. Blood was splattered on the walls and pooled on the floor, mixing with dark stains. The sight was terrifying, with each piece of the body placed with disturbing precision.
The room was filled with chaos and horror. Furniture was overturned, and deep scratches marked the walls and floor, as if something or someone had clawed at them in desperation. The oppressive atmosphere made it hard for Davis to breathe. He moved cautiously, his flashlight shaking slightly as he tried to process the gruesome scene.
The feeling of being watched grew stronger with each step he took. He could almost feel eyes on him, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. As he moved deeper into the apartment, the darkness and horror of what he had discovered weighed heavily on him. He knew he was not alone in that cursed place.
Inspector Davis immediately called for backup. Within minutes, the apartment was filled with the sound of police radios and the heavy footsteps of officers securing the scene. They began searching for evidence, the seriousness of their task evident in the air.
Sub-Inspector Peter found the victim’s phone. They hoped it might contain clues. They looked through the images and videos but found nothing unusual. It seemed like the phone held no secrets.
Then, they found a single audio recording. It was exactly 1 minute and 56 seconds long. Davis decided to play it, hoping for a lead. As the recording played, the room was filled with an eerie silence. For the first minute and 45 seconds, there was nothing—no background noise, no voices, just a disturbing silence.
Just as Davis was about to dismiss it, the final six seconds erupted with a loud, blood-curdling scream. A man’s voice, filled with pure terror, shouted as if he was facing his death.
As the recording ended, the chilling scream lingered in the air, echoing through the dimly lit apartment. The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the city outside.
TOP-10 Scripts from Edge Studio's Voice Over Script Library
[Skyrim opens with an Imperial wagon driving four prisoners down a snowy mountain pass. All are seated and bound; the one dressed in finery is gagged.]
Ralof: Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.
Lokir: D**n you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell. You there. You and me — we should be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.
Ralof: We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.
Imperial Soldier: Shut up back there!
[Lokir looks at the gagged man.]
Lokir: And what’s wrong with him?
Ralof: Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.
Lokir: Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?
Ralof: I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.
Lokir: No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.
Ralof: Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?
Lokir: Why do you care?
Ralof: A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.
Lokir: Rorikstead. I’m…I’m from Rorikstead.
[They approach the village of Helgen. A soldier calls out to the lead wagon.]
Imperial Soldier: General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!
General Tullius: Good. Let’s get this over with.
Lokir: Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.
Ralof: Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. D**n elves. I bet they had something to do with this. This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny…when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.
[A man and son watch the prisoners pull into town.]
Haming: Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?
Torolf: You need to go inside, little cub.
Haming: Why? I want to watch the soldiers.
Torolf: Inside the house. Now.
Galadriel: (speaking partly in Elvish)
(I amar prestar aen.)
The world is changed.
(Han matho ne nen.)
I feel it in the water.
(Han mathon ned cae.)
I feel it in the earth.
(A han noston ned gwilith.)
I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.
It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. Deep in the land of Mordor, in the Fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged a master ring, and into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life.
One ring to rule them all.
One by one, the free lands of Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were some who resisted. A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth. Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father’s sword.
Sauron, enemy of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever, but the hearts of men are easily corrupted. And the ring of power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur, to his death.
And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared another bearer.
It came to the creature Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains. And there it consumed him. The ring gave to Gollum unnatural long life. For five hundred years it poisoned his mind, and in the gloom of Gollum’s cave, it waited. Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor grew of a shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear, and the Ring of Power perceived its time had come. It abandoned Gollum, but then something happened that the Ring did not intend. It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable: a hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.
For the time will soon come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all.
To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark, dock,
In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock,
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp, shock,
From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block!
Do I really look like a guy with a plan, Harvey?
I don’t have a plan …
The mob has plans. The cops have plans.
You know what I am, Harvey? I am a dog chasing cars… I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it.
I just do things. I am just the wrench in the gears. I hate plans.
Yours, theirs, everyone’s. Maroni has plans. Gordon has plans.
Schemers trying to control their worlds.
I am not a schemer. I show the schemer how pathetic their attempts to control things really are.
So when I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know I am telling the truth.
I just did what I do best. I took your plan and turned it on itself.
Look what I have done to this city with a few drums of gas and a couple of bullets.
Nobody panics when the expected people gets killed. Nobody panics when things go according to plan, even if the plan is horrifying.
If I tell the press that tomorrow a gangbanger will get shot or a truckload of soldiers will be blown up, nobody panics. – because it’s all part of the plan.
But when I say that one little old mayor will die, everybody lose their minds.
Introduce a little anarchy, you upset the established order and everything becomes chaos.
I am agent of chaos.
And you know the thing about chaos Harvey?
“IT is FAIR.”
Hello, ladies, look at your man, now back to me, now back at your man, now back to me. Sadly, he isn’t me, but if he stopped using ladies scented body wash and switched to Old Spice, he could smell like he’s me. Look down, back up, where are you? You’re on a boat with the man your man could smell like. What’s in your hand, back at me. I have it, it’s an oyster with two tickets to that thing you love. Look again, the tickets are now diamonds. Anything is possible when your man smells like Old Spice and not a lady. I’m on a horse.
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