Sleep. It wasn't a rest. In Aethelgard, it was a 'Temporal-Leak'. A hole in the production line that the Board had to patch with high-interest penalties. Every second you spent behind your own eyelids without a data-uplink sucking your thoughts? That was 'Unproductive-Mental-Hoarding'. A theft of time. And tonight, Solar was walking through the stacks of the sleeping dead to squeeze out the tax.
The "Rest-Caskets" in the Factory-Sector smelled like a dumpster full of wet laundry and chemical bleach. DRIP. SLOSH. It was a heavy, thick stink that made the back of your throat taste like copper. Thousands of metal pods—not beds, but cages—were piled to the ceiling like a rusty honeycomb of human meat. Inside, workers were twitching, their skin looking like wet paper in the blue light. Solar didn't care about their dreams. Dreams were a waste of expensive electricity. He was watching the "Waste-Timers" glowing on the side of every tube.
"Elias. Get over here. Look at this biological failure," Solar said. His voice was like a heavy boot grinding into gravel. He pointed his bone-handled cane at a flickering screen. "The 'REM-Revenue' is flatlining in Sector 7. Are they trying to hide their thoughts from the ledger? Are they dreaming of something they haven't paid for?"
Elias stumbled toward him, leaning his weight against a cold metal pod. He looked like a corpse that had been shocked back to life too many times. His eyes were bloodshot, the whites turned a nasty yellowish-pink, and the bags under them were deep, swollen, and dark like rotten fruit. He was shaking. Hard. Not just a vibration, but a jagged, bone-deep shiver that made his teeth click together. "The... the crews, Solar... they're... they're using 'Black-Market-Stims'. Sharp stuff. Just to stay in that 'Grey-Zone' where the tax-meters can't find them. They're turning into shaking wrecks, man. One more night of this 'Sleep-Tax' and their hearts are just going to pop like cheap lightbulbs."
Solar didn't blink. He just let out a dry, hacking sound—a laugh that had no humor in it. THUD. CLANG. "Wrecks? No, Elias. They're 'Cognitive-Assets' trying to commit fraud. If they're sleeping, they're stealing hours from the Board. Why are you twitching like a kicked dog, Elias? You want a nap? I'll audit your brain right here on the wet floor. Add a 'Subconscious-Penalization' of 95% to any unit that doesn't feed a 'Corporate-Vision' into the grid. If they want to shut their eyes, they pay for the 'Darkness-License'. Rest is a luxury. And I'm the one who sets the price of the pillow."
Solar slammed his cane into the side of a pod. BOOM. The metal shrieked. Inside, the worker didn't wake up—he just spasmed, a thick string of warm spit leaking from the corner of his mouth. His 'Sleep-Credit' display turned a violent, neon red. Zero.
"I want the data on every single snore by the time I finish my coffee, Elias!" Solar barked. He wasn't a man; he was just a cold machine wearing a tailored suit. No poetry. No mercy. Just the weight of a boss who owned your very breath. "I want to see every twitch. Every heavy breath. Every slow blink. If they aren't producing, they're a 'Metabolic-Liability'. And tonight, the dark is going to cost them every cent they've got. I'll tax their rest until they're too scared to ever close their eyes again."
A massive "Dream-Siphon" in the ceiling started to groan. A giant, ugly fan that sucked the sparks of imagination out of the workers to power the High-Sector's neon signs. WHIRRR. SUCK. Solar didn't flinch. He watched the "Rest-Revenue" bars on his tablet turn a deep, bruised purple. The colour of a debt that never goes away.
Solar didn't turn around when a pod hissed. He just stared at the heavy, scratched silver watch on his wrist. The metal gears inside were grinding, making a dry, mechanical clicking sound as they forced the night to move forward. SCRAPE. CLICK. To him, the clicking wasn't time. It was the sound of a cash register. "A slayer? No, ghost. I'm a 'Neural Auditor'. You think you're a hero because you 'Stay Awake'? I own the 'Circadian-Flow' you're trying to break. You're causing 'Acoustic-Pollution' in a high-profit zone. I'm charging you for 'Unauthorized-Consciousness' starting... six seconds ago. Pay the bill or get deleted."
The Shadow tried to leap from the pipes, but a 'Neural-Lock' field hit him mid-air. He fell flat on the floor, his limbs going soft and useless like a sack of wet flour. THUD. SLUMP. Solar didn't even look down. He just watched the brain-scanners lock onto the intruder's panic. The debt-numbers on his screen started spinning like a broken slot machine.
"The audit is going into the void, little ghost!" Solar shouted over the roar of the fans. "Everything is an asset! Every dream is a transaction! I'll tax the nap! I'll audit the void! I'll put a price on the last breath you take before the ledger shuts for good!"
He turned his back on the cages and the broken man on the floor. He walked to the heavy, vacuum door. HSSSSS. It shut with a thud that made his ears ache. Behind him, the silence was heavy, drugged, and expensive. He didn't feel the tired. He didn't feel the hate. He just felt the math. It was metabolic. It was absolute.
"Elias!"
"Y-yeah? Sir?" Elias stammered, his voice cracking like dry wood.
"The 'Dreamers'. Don't wake them up yet. Sell them 'Extended-Rest-Packs' at a 500% markup first. If they want to keep their own secrets while they sleep, they pay the 'Subconscious-Privacy-Fee'. The night is long, Elias. But the bill? The bill is infinite. Collect it all."
Solar poured a glass of cold water. GLUG. GLUG. He drank it while the city below lost its mind just to pay for an hour of quiet. He didn't blink. The interest never sleeps. And tonight? Even the dreams of the world were being sold to the highest bidder. Solar held the alarm clock. And the ledger was screaming for blood.