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.