The forgetting wasn't some accident. It was a business model. A 'Data-Purge' designed to clean the slate. HISS. Every scrap of memory from the 'Old-World'—the green trees you never saw, the blue sky that's now just a grey lid—if you didn't erase it, you were a thief. You were holding 'Unlicensed-Heritage'. And in Aethelgard, being a thief is expensive. CRACKLE. POP.
Solar walked through the "Sanitization-Wing". It was a long, narrow hall that smelled like a hospital mixed with a burning trash-can. Bleach and melting plastic. HUMMM. ZAP. Huge metal shredders were eating books. Thousands of them. The pages turned into a thick, grey soup in seconds. CRUNCH. WHIRRR. It sounded like bones snapping in a dark room. Above the noise, the "Memory-Scrubbers" flashed. White light. Clinical. Cold. They were wiping brains like you'd wipe a spill off a kitchen counter. Solar didn't care about the history. History doesn't pay interest. He only cared about the "Nostalgia-Sensors" glued to the necks of the workers. You want to remember your kid's face? Fine. Pay the 'Legacy-License' fee. Or let the memory burn. BEEP. CLICK.
"Elias. Over here. Now." Solar didn't look back. He just pointed his cane at the screen. "Is the 'Recall-to-Revenue' ratio moving? I want to see the spikes from the anniversary-junk."
Elias was leaning against the wall. He looked sick. His eyes were wide and red, staring at nothing. Sweat soaked his collar until it turned yellow. DRIP. BLANK. He looked like a guy who forgot how to breathe for a second. Just standing there, vibrating. "The seniors, sir... they're... they're gathering. In the basements. Hiding like rats. They've got these illegal 'Locket-Photos'. Tiny pictures of the ocean. Sunlight. Stuff that isn't real anymore. They're becoming ghosts just to save ninety credits a thought. They say the 'Oblivion-Tax' is too much. They'd rather be empty shells than pay for a memory of a smile." WHEEZE.
Solar made a noise in his throat. A jagged, dry rattle. TWANG. It sounded like a shovel hitting a rock. CRUNCH. POP. "Ghosts? No, Elias. They're 'Unauthorized-Data-Silos'. If they're keeping the past alive, they're stealing bandwidth from the Board. This isn't a museum. Why are you twitching, Elias? Do you have something stored in your head that I should know about? Because I'll audit your skull next. Add a 'Nostalgia-Surcharge' of 90% to anyone who shows a 'Sentimental-Pulse'. If they want to dream about the good old days, they pay for the 'Subconscious-Storage'. The mind is a cloud-service, Elias. And I've got the admin password."
CLANG. TING.
Solar hit a magnetic-storage-unit with his cane. Hard. The sound was a flat, digital snap. ZAP. STATIC. A lightbulb overhead popped, raining glass down on the floor.
"Audit every single thought, Elias!" Solar barked. No metaphors. Just raw noise. "I want a list of every dream. Every flashback to the 'Before' times. I want to know who is thinking about grass. Who remembers the taste of a real apple. If it's old, it's a 'Temporal-Liability'. It's a debt. And debts get paid. Tonight, the past is going to cost them everything they have left. GRIND. I'll put a price on their memories that'll make them beg to forget their own names."
WHIRRR. ROAR.
The "Memory-Hole" in the middle of the floor started to glow. It was a massive, swirling hole of white fire. It chewed on history—books, hard-drives, toys, clothes—and turned it into heat for the rich guys' spas in the High-Sector. Solar just watched the "Sanitization-Revenue" bars climb. They turned a bright, sick white on his display. WHITE. COLD. PULSE. It was the colour of a dead screen.
"You're taxing their souls, Solar!" A voice came from the vents. It was high up, near the grinding teeth of the shredders. The Shadow. His silver mask was dirty. He looked like a piece of trash the machines missed. "You've put a meter on the only thing they have left! You're just a thief with a suit!"
Solar didn't move. He didn't even look up at the vent. "A thief? No, little ghost. I'm a 'Historical Auditor'. You think you're a hero because you can 'Remember'? I'm the one who owns the 'Future' you're wasting. Get off my grates. You're causing 'Temporal-Distortion' in my air-space. I'm charging you for 'Legacy-Contamination' starting... three seconds ago. Pay up or get out."
POP. FIZZ.
A 'Memory-Erasure-Pulse' hit the room. The air shook. It screamed with the sound of a billion files being deleted at once. EKKKK. SILENCE. Solar watched the sensors lock onto the Shadow. The debt numbers started spinning like a slot machine.
"The audit is moving into the void!" Solar shouted over the roar. SNOORT. "Everything is an asset! Every single memory is a transaction! I'll tax the dream! I'll audit the nightmare! I'll put a price on the very last quiet moment you have before you forget who the hell you are!"
He turned his back on the fire. Walked to the door. HSSSSS. The silence was heavy. No pity. No loss. Just the math. It was temporal. It was absolute.
"Elias!" BEEP.
"Yes... sir?"
"The 'Reminiscers'. Don't burn the photos yet. Sell them 'Digital-Alibis' first. 95,000 credits for a 'Filtered-Memory' pack. If they want to keep a piece of the past, they pay the 'Heritage-Storage-Tax'. The past is dead, Elias. But the bill? The bill for its existence is an 'Eternal-Renewal Fee' of 99.99%. Collect it all." CLANG. ZAP. GLUG. HISS.
Solar poured some water. Drank it. GLUG. GLUG. He didn't blink while the city below lost its mind just to pay for the next hour of living. The interest never sleeps. And tonight? Even the memories of the world were being sold to the highest bidder. Solar held the delete key. And the ledger was screaming for more.