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