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.