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.