The forest didn't breathe. It gasped.
Solar stood at the iron gates of the Immortal Forest, his heavy leather coat soaked with the sickly, grey mist of Sector 9. Around him, the trees weren't green. They were a bruised, metallic purple, their leaves dripping with a slow, toxic sap. DRIP. DROP. This was the last sanctuary in Aethelgard. The only place where the air didn't come out of a machine. And that was why Solar was here. He didn't like competition. Especially not from nature.
"The sensors, Elias. Now."
Elias was choking. The natural air was too thick for him, too real. He was used to the sterile, recycled wind of the Tower. He held a portable meter, his hands shaking so hard the needle was jumping. CLICK. CLICK. "The O2 levels are... high, sir. Too high. 21%. It's... it's beautiful."
Solar laughed. A dry, hollow rasp. A ghost's rattle. HA. HA. "Beautiful? No, Elias. It's an untaxed surplus. Every breath these people take in this forest is a theft from the Solar Group. We sell air at 15 credits a liter. Here? They're breathing for free. That's not beauty. That's a massive, biological black market."
He walked forward, his boots crushing the rotting ferns. SQUELCH. CRUNCH. The mist clung to his face like a damp shroud. He could see them now—the refugees. Hundreds of them, hiding among the glowing roots. They looked like skeletons in rags, their chests heaving with the first clean air they'd felt in years.
"Audit the intake, Elias!" Solar hissed. His eyes were two shards of frozen grey ice. "I want the volumetric flow. Calculate how much oxygen is being consumed per hour. Add a 'Natural Resource Surcharge'. 30%. No, make it 50%. If they want to breathe like gods, they can pay like martyrs."
SNAP.
A branch broke. A woman stepped out from behind a massive, bioluminescent trunk. She was holding a child, both of them covered in the purple dust of the forest. "The forest belongs to everyone, Solar!" she screamed. Her voice was raw. Real. "You can't own the wind!"
Solar didn't move. He didn't blink. He just adjusted his cufflinks—human bone. Cold. Hard. "I own the ground the forest grows on, madam," he whispered. His voice cut through the damp air like a razor. "I own the water that feeds these roots. And according to the High Court, I own the atmospheric rights to every square inch of Sector 9. You're not breathing 'free' air. You're shoplifting."
He turned to the Enforcers waiting at the gate. CLANK. CLANK. Their heavy armor sounded like a funeral march. "Seal it. Every vent. Every opening. I want a glass dome over this entire sector by morning. If they want to breathe the forest's air, they can buy a ticket. And tell the construction crews to add a meter to every tree. I want to know exactly how much each trunk is producing."
"Sir, the Shadow... he's at the Great Root," Elias whispered, pointing a trembling finger toward the center of the forest. "He's... he's sabotaging the seals. He's letting the air out into the slums!"
Solar felt a sharp, cold pulse of adrenaline. THUD. THUD. His heart was a hammer hitting a stone. "Sabotage? No. He's just creating a debt he can't pay. Elias! Get the gas-lines ready. If the Shadow wants to give them the forest's breath, I'll make sure it's his last."
He walked toward the center, the purple light reflecting off his pale skin. He looked like a corpse walking through a neon graveyard. WHISH. WHISH. The wind through the leaves sounded like a million people whispering his name. Or cursing it. He didn't care.
"Solar!" the Shadow's voice boomed from the darkness. "The forest is alive! You can't audit a heartbeat!"
Solar laughed. A jagged, metallic sound. HA. HA. HA. "A heartbeat is just a rhythmic expenditure of energy, ghost! And energy has a price. You think you're a hero? You're just a looter. You're stealing the future of this city to give them a few minutes of oxygen. I'm the one who makes sure there's air for tomorrow. I'm the one who balances the atmosphere."
He pulled a small, silver remote from his pocket. CLICK. In the distance, the first of the massive glass panels began to slide into place. The forest groaned. The trees seemed to shiver. CRACKLE.
"The audit is closed, ghost!" Solar roared over the sound of the machinery. "The forest is now a premium asset. Breathe deep while you can. The next one is going to cost you everything."
He turned his back on the purple glow. He walked to the transport. He didn't feel the humidity. He didn't feel the life. He just felt the math.
"Elias!" he barked as he climbed into the reinforced steel.
"Yes, sir?"
"Calculate the depreciation of the trees. If they don't produce enough O2 to cover the taxes, cut them down and turn them into charcoal. We can sell the heat at a 20% markup in the winter."
Solar poured a glass of clear, perfectly filtered water. GLUG. GLUG. He drank it slowly, watching the glass dome rise over the dying forest. The interest never sleeps. And tonight? Even the trees were going to pay their fair share.
The audit had reached the lungs of the world. And Solar was the only one with the mask.