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.