The Neon-Slums of Sector 6 didn't smell like technology. They smelled like ozone, burnt plastic, and the salty, stinging rot of infected eyes. In Aethelgard, sight wasn't a sense. It was a "Visual-Consumption-License." To look at a neon sign or a Board-owned skyscraper was to use "Corporate-Intellectual-Property." To see the world was to rack up "Observation-Fees" on the Board's visual assets.
Solar stepped through the oily puddles reflecting the flickering purple lights. SQUELCH. BUZZ. SQUELCH. The glare was everywhere, cutting into the retinas like a jagged piece of glass. People here wore dirty rags over their eyes, trying to save their "Visual-Credits" for the trip home.
"The ocular logs, Elias. Give me the breakdown of the 'Gaze-Arrears'. Who's looking at things they can't afford?"
Elias was squinting, his eyes red and leaking fluid. BLINK. WIPE. BLINK. He was holding a cracked data-slate, his fingers trembling in the harsh light. "The scanners are flagging everyone, sir. The 'Visual-Surcharge' for looking at the Upper Spire has doubled. The laborers... they're walking with their heads down, staring at the mud. But the Board just implemented a 'Ground-Observation-Tax'. Even the dirt has a viewing fee now, Solar. There's no free sight left."
Solar stopped in front of a massive holographic billboard. It showed a smiling woman holding a bottle of synthetic water. The light from the hologram hit Solar's face, turning his skin a sickly, neon blue. He reached out and tapped the projector with his cane. CLANG. SPARK. CLANG.
"Sight is a 'Selective-Asset-Usage', Elias," Solar spat. He wiped a drop of neon-stained condensation from his lip. The words didn't just echo; they sat there, heavy and stinking like the ozone in the air. He wasn't just talking. He was marking a price. "If they want to use their pupils to absorb the Board's light, they need to pay the 'Luminous-Usage-Levy'. A retina is just a 'Light-Receiver' on loan from the biological bank. I want a 'Vision-Audit' implemented by midnight. 50 credits per minute of focused observation. If they're staring, they're stealing."
CRACK. A light-tube overhead burst—POP. SHIVER.—spraying a fine mist of mercury-gas and glass-shards across the street. A beggar nearby screamed, clutching his face. GASP. HOWL. SOB. Nobody helped. A hand held out was a "Service-Request-Surcharge."
"Audit the damn pupils, Elias!" Solar barked. He kicked a piece of broken glass into the gutter. His voice was flat and hard. It hit the metal shutters like a fist. "I want a 'Pupil-Dilation-Sweep' on every corner. If a man's eyes widen at a luxury car? Charge him for 'Unauthorized-Aspiration-Viewing'. If a woman looks too long at a clean window? Seize her 'Visual-Memory' as 'Copyrighted-Data'. 500 credits per blink. No free looks in Sector 6. None."
THUMP. A shadow moved behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. The Shadow. He was standing on a pile of discarded VR-headsets, his silver mask reflecting the chaotic neon of the slums. DRIP. CLACK. DRIP. He was holding a jagged piece of rebar. His knuckles were white with a rage that didn't pay interest.
"You're taxing their eyes now, Solar?" The Shadow's voice was a low growl. It made the ear-drums ache. "You've seized their blood and their bones. Now you're auditing the very light that hits their brains? You're not an Auditor. You're a black-market eye-thief with a badge!"
Solar didn't turn. He pulled a small, black-light scanner from his coat pocket. He pointed it at the Shadow. CLICK. WHIRRR. BEEP. "A brain is just a 'Data-Processor' with a high electricity cost, ghost," Solar said. His eyes were like cold, dead stones in the neon glare. "The Board owns the light. We own the spectrum. If the families want to keep their 'Visual-Processors' active, they pay the 'Spectral-Retention-Rate'. 2,000 credits per square inch of focused imagery. You want to 'protect' their sight? Fine. Buy the light. 500 billion credits for the sector's photons. Settle the account, or I'll start the 'Mass-Blinding' protocol. I'll turn this sector into a dark-room by the morning shift."
CRACK. ZAP. The Shadow swung the iron bar. He smashed the holographic projector. SMASH. SHATTER. HSSSST. The smiling woman disappeared in a cloud of sparks and blue smoke. Solar didn't move. He just looked at the smoking remains of the light-box.
"That's a 'Visual-Asset-Assault'," Solar spat. He wiped a streak of greasy neon-dust from his chin. Each word came out like a jagged piece of metal grinding in a dry throat. No warnings. No threats. Just the bill. "120,000 credits. Plus, you've messed with the 'Luminous-Balance' of this rat-hole. That's a 10% hike on the whole sector's 'Observation-Insurance' premiums. Every time you spark that toy, you're making it more expensive for these bastards to see. Your little 'rebellion'? It's just a direct tax on the blind. Pay up or go dark. Now."
Solar swung his cane. He caught the Shadow in the leg. THWACK. GRUNT. It was a dull, heavy sound.
"The audit is moving to the optic-nerve, ghost!" Solar yelled. His voice was a tidal wave of cold logic. "Every glance is a debt! Every stare is a transaction! I'll tax the blink! I'll audit the tear! I'll put a meter on the very neurons that process the Board's reality! I'll foreclose on the sight itself!"
He turned his back on the Shadow. The scanners on the walls began to whir and click in the dark. WHIRRR. CLICK. WHIRRR. He didn't feel the neon-burn. He didn't care about the darkness.
"Elias!"
"S-sir? The glare... it's burning my retinas... I can't think..."
"Initiate a 'Visual-Foreclosure' for all citizens in arrears for more than twelve hours. Install the 'Opaque-Filters' on their eyes. If they can't pay for the light, they don't deserve the view. We'll balance this ledger with their darkness. Tell the people... if they want to see the sun, they better start 'Envisioning' a way to pay the Board. Sight is a luxury for those who can afford the bill." Solar adjusted his collar. He flicked a piece of neon-ash from his sleeve. "The world is a very dark place when your account is empty. And I'm about to turn off the lights."
SLAM. The heavy security gates of the sector hissed shut. The people were left in the flickering, dying light. Their eyes burned. The interest continued to compound in the shadows of the Audit.