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.