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.