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.