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.