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.