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.