Officer Farnham sighed as he stared down at the paperwork cluttering his desk. Ironvale was falling apart from the inside, suffering from major budget cuts and a steady decline in quality. Recently, they apprehended a wealthy man involved in a massive online scam that affected thousands. His crimes should have landed him in Ironvale without question, but he offered four hundred thousand dollars to avoid imprisonment and promised to silence the media. Given the state of the prison, the offer was hard to refuse.

Farnham stepped out of his office, guilt sitting heavily on his shoulders like a physical weight. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as he moved through the narrow corridor, passing inmates in orange jumpsuits who stared at him with a mixture of fear and contempt. He had sworn to uphold the law, yet here he was, breaking it for the sake of institutional survival.

"Hey boss, you alright?" a fellow officer asked as he approached, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. The smell of industrial cleaner and sweat hung in the air, a constant reminder of the prison's deteriorating conditions.

"Rich guy's walking free. We took his bribe, and now Ironvale can survive for a while, but letting people like him walk... it doesn't sit right with me." Farnham folded his arms, eyes shifting to a figure standing in the distance near the recreation yard. His breath caught in his throat when he recognized the inmate who held his career and reputation in their hands.

"..Shit."

The prisoner had uncovered the truth weeks ago, piecing together evidence of the corruption that ran through Ironvale's administration. If they talked, the prison's secrets would explode into public chaos, exposing not just the bribe but years of compromised security and cut corners. With only two years left on their sentence, they now wielded power Officer Farnham could not ignore.

To protect Ironvale's image and his own position, he had reluctantly begun complying with the prisoner's demands. Each concession chipped away at his professional identity, turning him from enforcer to enforced.

The sun beamed down harshly on the prison yard as Farnham made his way to monitor the restroom—a task he'd once assigned to junior officers. He paused in the doorway, spotting the inmate inside leaning casually against the chipped concrete sink. The fluorescent lights flickered above them, casting an unnatural glow over the tense meeting place.

"What is it this time?" he said, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I'm not handing over any more money."