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.