“Rhage's hand landed on Butch's shoulder. "Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean...hello? You're this beefy Irish boy. He's like...bus exhaust or some shit.”

“Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean… hello? You're this beefy Irish white boy. He's like… bus exhaust or some shit.”

“Jesus Christ. . . he was not Omega's son. Was he?"No." V said. "You are not. He just wants to believe you are. And he wants you to think you are. But that doesn't make it true."There was a long silence. Then Rhage's hand landed on Butch's shoulder. "Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean. . . hello? You are this beefy Irish white boy. He's like. . . bus exhaust or some shit."Butch glanced over at Hollywood. "You're sick, you know that?""Yeah, but you love me, right? Come on, I know you feel me.”

“A hand landed on his shoulder like an anvil. “How’d you like to stay for dinner?” Butch looked up. The guy was wearing a baseball cap and had some kind of marking—was that a tattoo, on his face? “How’d you like to be dinner?” said another one, who looked like some kind of model.”

“Yo, cop. We're heading for Screamer's. You wanna come?" Butch looked up at the doorway. Vishous was in the hall with Rhage and Phury behind him. The vampires had expectant looks on their faces, like they honestly wanted to hang with him. Butch found himself grinning like the new kid who didn't have to sit alone at lunch after all.”

“Don't miss the bus, boy. You're missing a lot of things in the world, better not miss that bus.”