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.