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.