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.