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.