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.