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.