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