Every song tells a story to me. Fascinating visuals broadcast through my mind like an IMAX presentation when I close my eyes and put my headphones on. I'd like to give you a glimpse into what I see, so feel free to hit play as I present the stories I've found while listening to some of my favorite tracks.

Today's Track: SEXYDEATH - Das Amerika Fuckamentalist

(This story is going to be in two parts. Part one is below)

008 - Factories (Part 1)

Hailey waved her hand in front of the security reader. The tiny red light flicked green, and the heavy sound of steel locks retracting echoed down the dimly-lit hall. The security doors opened, revealing the massive factory floor. Overhead lights flickered as they warmed up, welcoming the mechanic inside.

Thousands of robotic arms lifted, moved, and welded pieces in place as they slid down the line. Hailey walked slowly up the thin metal stairs leading to the catwalks. High above the mass of machinery, she sat and dangled her legs over the edge, straddling one of the posts that kept the handrails steady. Below her, the repetitive precision of creation was as transfixing as it was sad.

"Nothing but war," she muttered to herself, swaying her legs slightly to match the rhythm of construction, as if doing so could help ease her of the weight of being there. She hugged the railing in a somber attempt at comforting herself. "Why is it always war?"

Every night she came here, but it was less her job to check on the machines and more her space to think. There was a sort of music made by the factory floor, a perfect dance that soothed her, but only when she could clear her mind of the reason behind the song and dance of welding and pneumatic pistons firing. Every day on the floor below, the machines of war moved down the line. Every night, another completed shipment would leave, another batch of weapons in the hands of High Command, to be used to hunt down the Concave.

"Everyone wants peace," she murmured, "so badly that they kill each other for it." She lifted herself back up and worked her way down the catwalk to the small control room. Inside was the usual story, monitors showing green checkmarks all the way down, primary systems nominal, one anomalous error. Bringing up the details screen, Hailey reviewed the error readout. One of the arms that sprayed a hydrophobic coating on the mainboards was clogged, and a backup arm was being used. The failed arm had been relocated off of the main construction floor and was sent to the maintenance bay for repairs.

All repairs were automated, but they were to be reviewed by a mechanic in instances where a backup was being used to ensure that the primary was in proper condition and monitored after installation to ensure that everything continued to run smoothly. "Oh goodie," she grumbled, "I get to watch paint dry for the next couple hours to make sure it dries right." With a heavy sigh she headed down the catwalks and over to the maintenance bay.

She waived her hand in front of the next security door, and as it opened she froze in place, letting out a half laugh at the absurdity before her. Glittery blue paint, splattered across the walls and doors, the sprayer arm swaying in an odd sort of dance in the center of the room. Her smile faded as she processed what was going on, becoming aware that the paint was not as random as she thought. In a rush of panic and adrenaline she darted back down the hall, as a high-pitched whine came from the maintenance bay. A bright flash of light blinded her, and she dove forward, hoping to avoid whatever catastrophic effects might behest her as she crashed onto the ground, covering her head.

As she regained her vision, she found herself staring at a robed figured. Several others darted past, and as they moved their robes began to cling to their skin until they resembled silicone body-suits. Perplexed at seeing cultists become ninjas as they ran, she couldn't help but turn back to the one in front of her, whose robe was still hiding the mysterious figure before her.

"This is not your battle to fight," a soft and feminine voice said in nearly a whisper. "But we've been watching you for some time. The Concave can sense when someone doesn't support the High Command, and you've been on the fence for some while. We could use the help of someone in your position, but now is not the time to speak of it." The hooded figure produced a small data chip and offered it in an outstretched hand. "If you'd ever like to know more about how your reality really works, and what High Command's globalization efforts have hidden from you, then this will start you on your journey. Of course, if you choose to interfere tonight then we'll know your answer." Hailey watched as her invaders ran back into the maintenance bay, their skin-tight suits releasing their hold and becoming flowing robes once more. She reached out and grabbed the data chip.

"Dont worry," the hooded figure said, "In an hour everything we've done will fade. You're in no harm to stay out your shift. Of course we would like to see the sprayer in the maintenance bay be cleared to return to the main floor, but we also understand if you would rather take the rest of the night off. The choice is yours, but we would consider it a token of initiation if you choose to comply with our wishes. Goodnight Hailey."

The mechanic slowly pulled herself up as the hooded figure returned to the maintenance bay. Another bright flash and all of the Concave members were gone. Hailey looked behind her, and saw the entire production floor covered in graffiti, strange symbols and lettering, some already beginning to fade away. Her gaze turned to the sprayer arm in the maintenance room, which had stopped it's flailing about. The paint in there was gone, and for a moment she considered that she might have hallucinated the entire thing, as the room was as pristine as it ever was. But then she looked at the chip in her hand, and had to know more. After all, she still had well over seven hours left on the clock.