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.