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.