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.