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.