The Illuminati strive to ascend as a pantheon of zeitgeists. Beneath the Brooklyn streets, they experiment with thaumaturgy and technomancy. In their labs, demons shriek as they beat the walls of hard-drive purgatories, circuits soldered in patterns forming Enochian words. Old bleeds into new, the cutting edge fornicates with the antediluvian.
In my days we fought werewolves, vampires, the occasional swamp man. And now we have protohuman cybernetic chain fighters.
— Roger Wyndam-Pryce, Angel, "Lineage"