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.