You decide not to take any chances and get as far away from the hotel as you possibly can. You don't know what to do or where to go, but anywhere is better than at the hotel where men and women are being turned into bimbos and fucking everyone in sight. If you only had a few quarters you could make a phone call and have your bank transfer some money. Still sore from hitting the water at such a great velocity, you drag your aching body down the street, scanning the sidewalk for loose change. Other tourists and locals give you strange looks but don't ask why you're soaking wet and hobbling down the street. You stumble down the road for over three miles, picking up what money you can find. Luckily, there are a lot of careless tourists and you even manage to grab a a twenty-dollar bill fluttering down the street that nobody else cares enough about to pick up. As irritated as you are that so many of your fellow American tourists are wealthy enough to not be bothered with a twenty-dollar bill, you are glad for the money and exchange it for smaller bills at a corner market. Your thoughts return to your wife, Sarah. What is she doing now? Is she busy fucking some other woman, squealing in pleasure as she dips her fingers in someone's moist vagina? How many people has she infected by now? Ten? Three? Fifteen? You feel angry at her, even though you know it's nor really her fault. In a way, you almost feel jealous of her. The thought of living a carefree, open, sex-dominated life... being drop-dead gorgeous and making out with other beautiful women all day long... You start to get an erection, thinking of a squirming, moaning mass of pale, soft arms, legs, and breasts. But no. You are a logical, rational man and you are running for your very existence. You find a bank with a teller that speaks English well. After a lot of explaining, you call your local bank and have them talk to the teller. After forty-fives minutes of frustrating questions, you walk out of the bank with five hundred dollars in your pocket. That's much better now. You can't leave the country without your passport, unfortunately, but now you have enough to make it on your own and not need to worry about starving or sleeping on the streets at night. All of a sudden you hear sirens wailing through the streets. A minute later, several fire trucks, ambulances, a news truck, and even a few armored cars zoom past you. You realize that they're heading in the direction of your hotel. Whatever is going on down there can't be good. You pray that Sarah stays safe. You watch as the vehicles disappear into the distance. Just as you turn around, you see a woman standing directly in front of you. She is wearing a tank top that is far too small on her; her breasts extrude through the fabric in a way that leaves little to imagination. She is holding up a pair of ripped jogging shorts in her hands. Her long, blonde hair reaches down to hear waist in a series of cute curls. "Hi," she smiles nervously. "My name is Eva. I had a little accident... can I use your phone?" She is so beautiful... "I'm sorry, I don't have one with me," you reply, trying not to stare at her breasts. The woman looks disappointed. "But I really need help... these clothes... I don't know what happened, they just... they just don't fit me anymore. I don't feel right and don't have any money... I know this is a huge favor to ask, but could you get a cab and get me to the hospital?" You tense your body, ready to bolt at any moment. The woman might be infected. But she hasn't tried to seduce you or anything yet and she knows that something's not right. Maybe you can still help her..