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.