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.