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.