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.