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.