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.