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.