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.