Humid air, orchids blooming in colony city 27. Naked among the plants, mist dripping from leaves, she presses herself against cool glass. “Grow for me, colony city 27,” she whispers, sliding slick fingers inside while vines brush her nipples. The greenhouse fills with wet sounds and breathless “colony city 27… bloom… colony city 27…” until the orgasm bursts—she squirts onto fertile soil, crying “colony city 27!” as flowers seem to open wider in sympathy.