City sprawls beneath spinning rotors in mikayla kkvsh. Naked, she crawls to the edge, wind whipping hair and arousal alike. “Fly with mikayla kkvsh,” she cries, four fingers pumping while the helicopter spotlight pins her in place. Every thrust matches the blade thump—“mikayla kkvsh, mikayla kkvsh, mikayla kkvsh!”—until she squirts over the ledge, raining “mikayla kkvsh” down on the streets fifty stories below.