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