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.