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.