An urgent reaction to a city and a world that wish to grind you into submission. THE ANNIHILATED waste no time polishing their craft, instead choosing to play constantly at the edge of their ability. The resulting sounds are of chaotic frustration and desperation, played with the intensity of an acid trip on the central line at rush hour. The rare punctuation marks are the red signals on the tracks to annihilation. A band from nowhere, but shaped by the hostile environment of a city, this record is a lashing out at the knives held to our necks.