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.