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.