Milo pulled out the driveway, out of the cul-de-sac, and onto the main road. Milo thought he knew where he was going, but he really didn't. The worms were doing all the work. His '97 Dodge Ram Pickup rattled beneath him, and the stick shift was jigging around. It made a fair amount of noise, but Milo didn't notice. He was much too turned on to do that.
He also didn't notice the radio stories. As he drove, it changed from one subject to the next; murders to food-drives. About 45 minutes into his drive, reports of a fluid-borne pathogen were being released from the DMI (DΓ©partment des Maladies Infectieuses, the French CDC).
"Traces of the pathogen had been found in certain areas downstream of a water treatment plant in Gordes. While samples are awaiting further analysis, French authorities have realized little information, save for this appears to be a kind of worm larvae."
Milo had little concern for the radio, but it continued on: "Reporting they will disseminate more information when available, many critics have disputed this claim, as the French haven't had the best track record when it comes to epidemiological transparency, as we all found out in 2004."
The program then went on to theorize that this could be a mutation of the Zoological Infectious Encephalitic Parasite. This parasite was found inert in horses and cattle, and shortly thereafter became active, killing around 5% of the world's livestock. It entered the brain, put the host into a docile state, while it grew it's tendrils.
After about 48 hours, it started encouraging the host to produce. It was observed that the parasite's actions grew more complex the more intelligent the animal. They warned of disastrous implications if this parasite ever jumped ship to humans.
Still not caring, Milo was getting hornier by the second. He was only a few miles away from arriving from his destination, yet the wait seemed forever.
He turned onto a well manicured road, with a sign that read "Welcome to the Erickson". He drove along the curving river that seemed to disappear every 50 meters, until he finally reached a point in which he could see a grand building.
The Erickson wasn't so much a building, as it was a complex (even though they were all connected). It was built upon a hill, spilling over with a number of residences and rooms. The road led into an internal parking structure, which Milo promptly drove into, ignoring the beautiful shimmering lights that glinted off the windows.