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