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.