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.