On a Friday afternoon, Cami came home from work feeling more worn out than usual. She plopped down on the couch in the living room and flipped on the TV to the news, where a gaunt-looking woman with a bad 80's hairdo stared out solemnly from the screen. "And now to our top local story this evening, reporting on the widespread epidemic that has been plaguing the city. Doctors are calling it the Mushroom Flu, due to the hallucinogenic-like dreams that patients with the virus have been reporting.

"So far, over three hundred cases have been reported in New Orleans and its outlying suburbs since the first case was reported last week, meaning that the virus is highly contagious and spreading rapidly. Doctors are advising people to practice good hygiene, for instance washing your hands thoroughly, eating a diet rich in Vitamin C, and avoiding contact with those who have been confirmed to have the virus. Be on the lookout for symptoms such as headache, fever, chills and sweats, and those telltale hallucinatory dreams.

"If you find yourself presenting any of these symptoms," the reporter continued, "please seek medical assistance immediately. Doctors say that in most cases, the virus is not deadly, but it can take more than a week for a victim to make a full recovery."

Cami changed the channel quickly. She knew there would only be another couple minutes of the reporter rambling off the various schools and businesses that were closed because of the virus. She always hated the fear-mongering attitude that the news perpetuated, always making people terrified that this was the next bubonic plague, even though the reporter had specifically said that it was rarely life-threatening. Still, she knew that just by having the story on the news, it would induce panic and fear in the city, and people would be closing up shop and going home early.

It didn't much matter to her, though. She would keep the bar open under pretty much any circumstance unless there was a freak blizzard or something like that. She just hoped she would still have customers, and that they wouldn't all be quarantining themselves into their homes.

When the TV failed to provide anything interesting for her to watch, she turned it off and stretched out on the couch. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Waking up a couple hours later, Cami stretched and rubbed her eyes. She didn't usually nap that long, but work that day had really run her ragged. She sat up quickly, her stomach growling, wondering if she had any food in the apartment for dinner. Suddenly nauseous, she had to lay back down, her hand over her forehead; it felt as if someone had bashed her skull in with a hammer.

The skin of her forehead felt warm under her palm, and her mind immediately recalled what they reporter had said. The first symptom of the Flu was a headache. "No," she whispered to herself, but even doing so sent a shockwave of pain through her head. She told herself she was fine over and over again, but something in the back of her mind tried to talk over that mantra, tried to say that she was sick.

Slowly, she sat up again and made her way to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and the cupboards, looking to see if she had anything that even seemed remotely appetizing. Cami had hoped that she could find something to eat, hoped that in doing so, it would prove that she was fine and that she couldn't be coming down with that Flu. And yet every can of soup, every box of cereal, the carton of milk in the fridge, they all turned her stomach in a way that said it would be best if she didn't eat anything at all.

Reaching up, she put the back of her hand to her forehead. Her skin was simultaneously hot and clammy, her forehead beaded with sweat. She didn't think she had a thermometer anywhere, but it didn't much matter. Something in her gut told her that she had a fever; she just didn't want to take her temperature and have definitive proof of it. That way, she could remain in denial without feeling guilty.

She reasoned that she'd just had a long day at work. It had been rather busy at the bar, with one particular customer making lewd comments towards her when he thought she couldn't hear. She was just tired, she knew, it had been a long day and she probably just felt queasy from thinking about the gross things that guy had said.

Even though she'd just taken a long nap, she laid down in her bed, the blankets pulled up around her neck as she shivered. In her head, she attributed the chills that wracked her body to a broken thermostat, wholeheartedly believing there was something wrong with the air conditioning, and that she should call the apartment company in the morning to complain. But in the meantime, she felt too tired to even get up and get her phone from the other room.

Her last thoughts before she drifted off to sleep again were, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. It's not the Mushroom Flu.

Of course it was the Mushroom Flu. Klaus knew this as soon as he took a look at her. He had gotten worried when she hadn't responded to any of his texts in the past eighteen hours, and he knew he could almost always get at least a one-word reply, even if she was busy at work. Whenever she didn't respond, it always tipped him off that something might be wrong, whether that meant that she was mad at him, or that she was in some sort of trouble. Either way, he figured it would be best if he went over to her apartment to check on her.

They had only been officially together for a month, but Klaus already had a key to her apartment. "Not because I want you to come over any time you want, but because I know you will anyway," she'd explained. "And I'd rather you used the front door like a civilized person instead of the window like a creeper."

Now he was glad that she'd given the key to him, because he was sure now that if he'd knocked, she would not have been able to get out of bed to answer the door. He was standing over her bed now, looking down at her as she shivered beneath the covers. He put a hand to her forehead for a split second before he pulled it away; she was burning up. She looked positively green, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, a grayish tinge to her face as she shook and slept. She hadn't woken up when he'd come in, or even stirred beyond her shivering when he'd touched her. He figured she must be deep in the midst of those hallucinatory dreams…