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.