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.