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.