there  is  another  company. a  climbing 
 and penetrating vine. it's in  the rocky 
 plains,  it's  inside  the  hills,  it's 
 deep below.  glistening  silver burrows, 
 red-pink  logo,   unclear   nationality, 
 veiled motives.                          
                                          
 a  cave  company,  a  magician  company. 
 sharpest     knife,     cutest    knife. 
                                          
 we   will   grow  humans   in   pea-pods 
                                          
 shimmering     sound-card     emergence, 
 something   there  on   the   shore   of 
 turtle beach.  the  primordial  soup  of 
 the   digital,  waves  in  dithering  of 
 third-rate  dac's,  caressing  the sand, 
 bringing things up  from  the  depths of 
 the  circuit.  and there, deposited: the 
 first   seed   crystal   of   artificial 
 intelligence.                            
                                          
 this   changes  everything,  of  course. 
                                          
  
                                          
 the  company  is  named  for  it's first 
 product,  the  orbital  mirror,  both  a 
 passive  sentinel and  an active  torch: 
 set  to  it's  widest  configuration  it 
 will light up  a  whole  city  at night, 
 and  at its narrowest it becomes a laser 
 to  cut  through   mountain  and  metal. 
                                          
 still  unsold  prototypes  by  the  time 
 when  that something was  found  on that 
 beach, now  the mirrors are all used  to 
 beam    energy   at    different    mirr 
 implements,  as   a  rather  static  and 
 boring power source. (and  subtle threat 
 of violence.)                            
                                          
  
                                          
 the  ai  is   a   coral.  they  grow  it 
 (crystal  oil,  lead glass, gentle laser 
 curtains)  only  to carve  it apart  and 
 section  it.  to   become   conditioned, 
 refractured,  grown  again.  deliciously 
 honed.  mirr  sinks  further  below  the 
 surface.                                 
                                          
 whispers  now,  about  featherbite... is 
 she a real  person? or is this the  mirr 
 ai, being unleashed upon the  youth? and 
 another  conspiracy  theory  about there 
 not actually being any  human  employees 
 left.                                    
                                          
 in  the   meantime,  dubious  creations. 
 cerberus bodies are born.