“Vampirism,” says Hawthorne. “Contagious.”

“Okay,” says Senji.

“Zombies. Contagious.”

“Well, yes.”

“Werewolves.”

“Were-everythings, now,” says Senji uneasily. “Since you generalized the virus.”

“Exactly!” Hawthorne does a little dance. “I thought too small! One recombinant agent creates a host of rapacious metanthropes. The solution? A second virus! An army of their natural enemies! Frankensteinitis!”

“Aside from that being a horrible idea,” says Senji, “the only time Frankenstein’s monster met the Wolfman was in movies, wherein he was portrayed as peacef–”

“Wrong!” says Hawthorne, slaps two bolts on his own neck, and hits himself with a stun gun.

“Ow!” he says, later.