"Our names are unknown and our faces are shadows drifting across an infinite blackness. Our voices have been stifled to a soft murmur in a madman’s ear. We are the proud failures with only a single joy left to us—to inflict rampant damage on those who have fed themselves on our dreams and to choke ourselves on our own nightmares. In sum, we are expediters of the apocalypse. There is nothing left to save, if there ever was anything … if there ever could be. All we desire (in all our bitterness) is to go to our ruin in our own way—with a little style and a lot of noise."