EXCERPT: Nosferatu, Brutus? by Scott Sigler

New York Times bestselling novelist Scott Sigler is the author of the Infected trilogy (Infected, Contagious, and Pandemic), Ancestor, and Nocturnal, hardcover thrillers from Crown Publishing; and the co-founder of Empty Set Entertainment, which publishes his Galactic Football League series (The Rookie, The Starter, The All-Pro, and The MVP). Before he was published, Scott built a large online following by giving away his self-recorded audiobooks as free, serialized podcasts. His loyal fans, who named themselves “Junkies,” have downloaded over eight million individual episodes of his stories and interact daily with Scott and each other in the social media space.

Teenage Vamplague™


Funding Unsuccessful. This project reached the deadline without achieving its funding goal on October 31.


13,996
Backers

$1,507,078
pledged of $2,000,000

Pedophiliac sparkly vamps must die, and you can help kill them! Unleash the “Teenage Vamplague” and take out these young punks forever.

Project Goals

Sparkly vampires. Smoochy-face vampires. Vampires that feel so deeply, and love so much. Two-hundred-year-old vampires that look like a teenager and use that appearance to mack on sixteen-year-old girls, because that vampire is totally a pedophile. Vampires that run detective agencies, that are ad execs, that hang out in bars and date fairies, that are roomies with werewolves, that attend “academies,” that try oh-so-hard to be “human,” vampires that actually choose to go to high school—you hate them, and so do I.

So, let’s kill them all.

Who am I you ask? My name is Nosferatu. I’ve been around a long time. I’ve had so much wood jammed into my chest you might as well call me Pinocchio. I’ve drunk my way across the world, slaughtered innocents, eaten babies, hypnotized honeys, and killed men just to watch them die. Do I sparkle? Hell no, the sun melts me like a death ray aimed at a popsicle. I sleep all day, party all night. I’ve got henchmen and guard dogs and sexy undead bitches kicking about my lair wearing damn next to nothing. Give me a pimp chalice and I’d be the whitest rap mogul this side of Vanilla Ice. I’m an original vampire, dammit, and this O.V. has had enough of the foppish metrosexual romance strain that is ruining my kind’s good name.

My plan is two-fold.

First, we’ll crowdsource some flash-mobbing that can eliminate most of these whiny creatures. (Yes, I’m centuries, old, but I read TechDirt and I know the social media lingo, people—friend me up.) What the hell happened to our world? When I was a young vamp, there were mobs of angry townsfolk with torches and pitchforks marching on gothic castles all around the globe. Now? Everyone is too damn busy pirating Game of Thrones episodes to bother with wiping out creatures of the night. My genius is to activate those mobs and generate funds while doing it. Smart, right?

Second, I will pour that money into research for a virus that only attacks undead creatures who are forever paused at twenty-years-old or less. This virus will spread via kissing, neck biting, or being a creepy-ass stalker that watches underage girls sleep. That’s right, my Teenage Vamplague™ (already trademarked, eat your heart out, Microsoft) will spread like wildfire through the permanently beautiful people and turn them into blackened mush. All vamps over twenty will be spared. (At least, I think they will be spared. I’m pretty sure, anyway. But screw it—totally worth the risk.)

 


~ END EXCERPT ~

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