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.