“You’re illegally blind, Mr. McCrae.”

Philip froze mid-chew. The hand holding the peach he’d just bitten into fell slack.

“I’m sorry—what?” he asked, wiping juice from his chin. “Don’t you mean legally blind?”

The woman across from him, perched on the edge of his thrift store armchair like it might infect her with cooties, smoothed her blazer. Her ID badge read: Janine D. | Compliance Officer | Sensory Regulation Bureau.

“No, Mr. McCrae. Illegally. You failed to file Form 88-B when your visual impairment occurred. Your blindness is undocumented. Noncompliant. Flagged for audit.”

Philip blinked. Slowly. Deliberately. “I went blind due to corneal trauma. Shattered windshield, falling glass, four hours of surgery. Not exactly a decision I made on a whim.”

Janine tapped her tablet. “And yet you failed to submit your Request for Visual Nullification Certification.”

“I couldn’t see the paperwork,” Philip snapped. “How was I supposed to fill it out?”

“You were supposed to fill it out before you went blind, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. He scratched his scalp, already regretting the question. “And how exactly was I supposed to know I was going to lose my eyesight?”

Janine gave a tight-lipped smile. “That’s not our department, Mr. McCrae.”

Philip scoffed and slumped back in his chair. “Fine,” he sighed, taking another bite of his peach. “What do you recommend I do now? Since I’m apparently in violation of reality.”

“Well,” Janine said brightly, “I can mail the necessary forms to you in Braille.”

Philip’s jaw twitched. “Ma’am. I just went blind six months ago. I haven’t yet had the opportunity to learn Braille.”

Janine sucked her teeth, peering at him over her reading glasses with disapproval. “Tsk, tsk. That’s no good at all.” She tapped rapidly on her screen. “I suppose we’ll have to put you on a Warning Contract.”

“A what?”

“A conditional deferment of your sentence while you work toward reclassification. However, you’ll still be subject to standard penalties under the Provisional Visual Noncompliance Clause.”

Philip rubbed his temples. “What penalties?” Cane in hand, he stood and made his way to the trashcan, chucking the remainder of the peach inside before sitting back down in front of her.

“Well, to start with,” she began, gesturing with a perfectly manicured hand toward his cane, “a fine of three hundred dollars for unlicensed cane usage.”

“It’s not a fucking moped. It’s a stick I use so I don’t eat pavement.”

“And an additional seventy-five for non-Braille labeling of spice jars.”

Philip’s face reddened. “I live alone. And I just told you I don’t read Braille.”

“That’s not our department either.”

She flipped to a new tab. “You’ll also be required to attend Visual Accountability Group Sessions twice weekly, complete a Sensory Reclamation Quiz, and sign a Compliance Oath affirming that you will not exploit your condition for sympathy, free bus rides, or online content creation.”

Philip’s nostrils flared as he glared in the woman’s general direction. “And once I complete all of these absurd requirements, I’m good to go. Correct?”

“Yes,” she said. “Assuming you pass your Empathy Review.”

“Empathy Review?”

“It’s a standardized personality scan to ensure you aren’t harboring manipulative blind tendencies. Weaponized vulnerability, pity addiction, attention-seeking martyrdom, etcetera.”

He stood abruptly, causing his chair to topple backwards. “Is this a prank? Am I on some kind of government-themed reality show?”

Janine didn’t flinch. “If you were, you would’ve had to sign a release form. And those are in braille.”