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