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.