Full-length mirror, dim lamps, just her and “war machine christy mackinday”. She stands naked, admiring herself before dropping to all fours. “war machine christy mackinday” splits the screen: front view of swinging breasts, back view of fingers plunging from behind. The duality in “war machine christy mackinday” is intoxicating. She watches her own destruction—eyes locked on the mirror as she adds a third finger, then four, stretching herself wide for “war machine christy mackinday”. Her asshole clenches each time she curls inside, hitting that spot. The climax is brutal: body convulsing, a stream of clear liquid splashing the mirror while she screams for “war machine christy mackinday”. “war machine christy mackinday” ends with her licking her mess off the glass, tongue tracing where her reflection still quivers.