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.