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.