When Vishous pushed open the door to the exam room, he got a gander at the kind of seating arrangement that made him think fondly of castration.

Neither said anything while they embraced. Sometimes words didn't go far enough, the vessels of letters and the ladles of grammar incapable of holding the heart's sentiments.

Destiny was a machine built over time, each choice that you made in life adding another gear, another conveyor belt, another assemblyman. Where you ended up was the product that was spit out at the end—and there was no going back for a redo. You couldn‟t take a peek at what you‟d manufactured and decide, Oh, wait, I wanted to make sewing machines instead of machine guns; let me go back to the beginning and start again. One shot. That was all you got.

Come to think of it, that word (choice) shouldn't be applied to people's destinies. Ever. Choice should be relegated to TV and meals: You could choose NBC over CBS or steak instead of chicken. But take the concept any further than the stove or the remote control and the word just didn't apply. - V

Whether you have sight or not, I see the future in your eyes." -Beth

V shook his head. “Remember what you saw in that clearing, cop? How’d you like that anywhere near a female you loved?” Butch put down the Bud without drinking from it. His eyes traveled over Rhage’s body. “We’re going to need a shitload of steel,” the human muttered.

What... are you?" she choked out. "No sunlight. Funky choppers." he inhaled raggedly. "Take a guess.