These are the British Columbian woods, at night. It can get very steamy out here, at times...

Atop a hill, of which there are many in these woods, a Chrysler sedan is parked. It reels and rocks, while in park, and with the parking brake engaged. Steam rises from all four of its windows...as if the incoming fog wasn't going to be enough.

Alas, the fog that's coming is cool. This steam is hot; HUMAN hot. Two 98.6s might not make a 197.2...but for the two people in here generating it, it might as well be.

Meet Charlie Tanner. He's on bottom. From above, he's getting a makeover from a busty, naive, and energetic blonde. It's a bit cramped in here...but otherwise, he's having one of the many best times of his life. Poor girl; she doesn't know he's had others.

Funny; I've been told that girls PREFER experienced men...

Up top, Hillary Simoneau conducts the orchestra. They're playing hot fiddles on the front row. The fiddles generate smoke, as they're played. The front row may just spontaneously combust, if the conductor doesn't slow down...

Alas, Hillary will NEVER slow. She's found her steed, and she's riding him to the finish line of the Kentucky Derby. And that's never been farther away.

In the midst of the heat-generation, Charlie's smartphone lights up. A hot chick's just texted him. Hillary doesn't know that his contact list has more ladies on it than relatives, lesbians, or male friends...or that most of these ladies make more money than most men in his patriline did. Tanners were never noblemen, after all, in more artisan-based societies...if artisans ever WERE a base of any society, save the tourism industry...

Outside, a lone wasp lands on the hood. He seems comfy...despite being far from his nest.

At last, Hillary climaxes. She doesn't even give Charlie a chance to go. For many prolonged moments, they both cry out for relief. Ah, this feels SO good...

Charlie rolls over, and falls over, into the floor bin. He belches. He's hungry. Good thing, though, he's too tired to eat.

They both fall asleep. All around them, the night passes. Their steam escapes the car.

High above them, the sky rises to infinity. A few of the stars blink. They're really artificial satellites.

Far above the clouds, such a satellite hangs in orbit. In a way, it looks like a syringe. It's "needle" part is equipped with a bulb. Otherwise, its solar panels help it little, at this time of night.

Its side reads, LaTOUR SOC. Some very secret and very rich scientists developed it, and put it up here. They never talk to anyone else about it, but they dream of a super-evolved human race, free of error. They're particularly obsessed with the transhuman mind.

Alas, this satellite is a bit of a work in progress. At this stage, there's no telling what it's capable of...

Back below, the moon sets. Throughout the woods, a cool mist rises. It's gotten cooler.

Charlie's bladder awakens him. He looks around. Above him, Hillary's asleep in the seat. She's in the nude. Her hand hangs off, and lies atop his midriff.

Deviously, Charlie reaches above him, and undoes the door latch. In goat steps, he lightly grasps her hand, raises it, and leaves it in the seat with her. Once that's done, he becomes like a serpent, and slithers from the car. He stands, and gently closes the door, to not wake Hillary.

The tree line is a long way downhill. And Charlie's in the buff. Even so, he braves the trip down there. He surrounds himself with overgrowth, relaxes, and lets the excesses flow from him.

High in the trees, a kestrel snoozes at his roost. He doesn't even flinch at the sudden noise of a gradual discharge of water.

Again, Charlie rests, and lets the excesses flow from him. There sure are a lot. He's starting to think he shouldn't have drunk all that bourbon...

It was Kentucky bourbon. Hence, he should never regret it. He may be underage, but there's only one Kentucky in the world. And we're NEVER sparing, when it comes to brewing our unofficial state beverage. (Our official state beverage is milk; whoever the hell thought of THAT...)

High above, the satellite is now right over Charlie. The main bulb of a laser cannon points directly at him.

Spontaneously, it lights up. It shoots a beam of light down to the Earth's surface.

On the upside, nobody gets hurt. Nothing even gets destroyed. But again, the beam hits Charlie directly. All at once, Charlie feels sore all over...

From another orbit, another satellite flies. The LaTour Society satellite doesn't stand a chance. The two satellites collide, and are totaled.

On the upside, the satellites no longer bother Charlie. On the downside, someone's going to have to pay a fortune to get both of those satellites repaired/replaced/both.

Having shed all of his fluids, Charlie smiles, turns, and heads back to... Alas, he looks around him. The woods are endless. He can't seem to remember his way back to...

He needs to lie down. So, he does. He curls up in the grass, and sleeps...like a fawn. Or rather, a buff fawn...without spots to camouflage it...however the hell that works. Predators must be color-blind, if they can't see fawns hiding in grass...

Hillary's going to have a hell of a time getting home. Even so, Charlie doesn't care. He just wants to sleep. And he does...far from a rich woman's bed...which is rare, for him.