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.