The fluorescent strip light in the corridor had an irregular hum that stuttered against the plastic casing, as if the two were engaged in an argument about which was most important. It was past two in the morning, and the radiator made the hallway feel colder than it actually was, its lack of use draining the temperature so no one else could enjoy it. The air held the faint odours of stale bleach and damp walls.

In the small administrative office at the end of the ward, Daniel Miller, the manager, was busy feeding years of compromised reports and falsified patient logs into the shredder. He had successfully run the home into the ground for a decade, pocketing funds while the heating failed and the call bells went unanswered. The room was thick with the almost visible stench of cheap aftershave, which accompanied the long night of destroyed evidence. He did not look up when the door clicked open, assuming it was just another bewildered resident wandering out of their room in their slippers and little else. They'd turn around in a moment and return to whence they came. If not, he'd call an orderly.

Darren stood in the doorway with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his fleece. He'd spent five years watching Miller shave budgets to the bone and order staff to ignore the calls in the dark until the old people simply stopped ringing them. He had watched three residents pass away in cold beds last month alone, their charts quietly rewritten before the Medical Examiner's office was even notified.

"Go back to your room. You know you're not meant to be out after dark. It's for your own safety."

The recital of the age-old instruction was automatic to Miller. These old 'uns were a nuisance if they wandered late on. Always getting hurt or needing assistance. Always costing money.

Darren didn't move. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket, allowing the heavy pair of stainless-steel medical shears catch the harsh glare of the desk lamp. With his left hand, he reached across and turned the lock with a sharp, definitive click.

Miller finally looked up, his expression hardening as he took in the locked door and the cold steel in Darren's face and grip. He opened his mouth to bark an order, but the words died in his throat as Darren stepped further into the small room.

Darren did not speak, letting the sheer weight ofthe shears and the absolute quiet of his intent fill the space between them.

This was written for the brilliant TheOlds profile's Writing Prompts Challenge. I had no idea where this one might go, but then, when do I? The version on their profile is slightly shorter due to character limits in comments. I hope you enjoy the story!