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.