The lubrication. It wasn't a reflex. It was a 'Visual-Maintenance-Event'. And every time your eyelid shuttered to clear the dust of Aethelgard? That was a 'Cleansing-Cycle'. A corneal debt.
Solar stood in the "Optical-Plaza" of the Surveillance-Tier. The air was dry, smelling of ozone and the scorched-plastic scent of active cameras. CLICK. WHIRRR. The plaza was filled with digital-screens, all flashing high-frequency 'Attention-Captures'. Solar wasn't looking at the ads. Ads were a passive-income stream. He was looking at the "Blink-Trackers" mounted on the iris-scanners. In Aethelgard, if you wanted to keep your eyes from burning, you didn't just need tears. You needed a 'Moisture-Voucher'.
"The ocular-audit, Elias. Tell me the 'Shutter-to-Surcharge' ratio is tracking the eye-strain."
Elias was staring at the ground, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and fixed in a terrifying, unblinking stare. BLINK. STING. He looked like a man whose eyelids had been pinned back by invisible needles. "The civilians, sir... they're 'Dry-Eyeing'. They're literally using illegal numbing-drops just to stay in an 'Open-State' for hours. They're becoming a city of staring corpses just to save sixty credits a day. They say the 'Blink-Tax' is making it more expensive to look than to be blind."
Solar laughed. A dry, jagged rattle. Like a desert wind blowing through a room full of glass eyes in a vault that hasn't seen darkness in decades. RATTLE. CHIME. "Corpses? No, Elias. That's 'Visual-Input Optimization'. If they're blinking, they're 'Interrupting the Data-Feed'. Why are you squinting? It's just an audit of the shutter. Add a 'Lachrymal-Penalty' of 75% to any unit that registers more than ten blinks per minute. If they want to hydrate their eyeballs, they pay for the 'Clear-View Premium'. Sight is a continuous-service, Elias. And the maintenance-hatch is the eyelid."
CLANG.
Solar struck a metal pillar with his bone-handled cane. The sound was sharp—a cold, metallic snap that made every head in the plaza turn, triggering a wave of panicked, expensive blinks. SNAP. CLICK-CLICK.
"Audit the lid, Elias!" Solar hissed. His voice was a cold rasp. A blade in the dark. "I want a census of every flutter. Every squint. Every wink. If it moves, it's a 'Motion-Liability'. And tonight? The focus is expensive."
WHIRRR.
A massive light-flicker-generator began to pulse on the ceiling, designed to force the eyes of the crowd to react and blink involuntarily. FLASH. PULSE. Solar didn't flinch. He just watched the "Ocular-Revenue" numbers turn neon-red on his display. BRIGHT. RED.
"You're taxing the very reflex of the eye, Solar!" A voice. From the rafters above the iris-scanners. The Shadow. He was there, his silver mask showing two dark, unblinking slits, looking like a ghost that had forgotten how to sleep. "You've put a meter on the very moisture of the soul! You're not a CEO! You're an optical-vampire with a lens-cap!"
Solar looked into the glare. The plaza was a blur of flashing lights and dry eyes. He didn't move. He didn't blink. "A vampire? No, ghost. I'm a 'Corneal Auditor'. You think you're a hero because you 'Watch' over them? I'm the one who owns the 'Light-Path' you're using. Get off my rafters. You're causing 'Visual-Occlusion' and I'm about to charge you for the 'Focus-Disruption Surcharge'."
POP.
The Shadow tried to vanish, but a high-intensity strobe hit him, forcing his pupils to contract so fast it caused a neural-shock. GASP. BLIND. Solar didn't flinch. He just watched the light-sensors locking onto the intruder's "Unauthorized-Lubrication".
"The audit is moving to the perception, ghost!" Solar roared over the hum of the flicker-generator. "Everything is an asset! Every blink is a transaction! I'll tax the gaze! I'll audit the stare! I'll put a price on the very last thing you see before the dark takes you!"
He turned his back. Walked toward the heavy, light-sealed exit. The door hissed shut—HSSSSS.—leaving the plaza in a heavy, blinding silence. He didn't feel the sting. He didn't feel the hate. He just felt the math. It was optical. It was absolute.
"Elias!" He barked as the lock beeped. BEEP. CLICK.
"Yes... sir?"
"The 'Dry-Eye' users. Don't give them drops. Sell them 'Eyelid-Locks'. 60,000 credits for a forced-open shift. If they want to blink, they pay the 'Lubrication-Royalty'. And tell the survivors... the light is harsh. But the blink? That's a 'Sensory-Maintenance Fee' of 96%."
Solar poured a glass of water from his flask. Cold. Clear. GLUG. GLUG. He drank it while the city below went red-eyed trying to afford the morning. He didn't blink. The interest never sleeps. And tonight? Even the very moisture of the eye was going to be sold to the highest bidder.
The plaza was locked. And Solar held the eye-drops.