ANGRY HISPANICS JEERED AND HURLED insults in Spanish at the naked scar-faced youth — another prison guard was unlocking the second sally-port gate. They dragged him towards the fence of the Latino side of Tombscradle. When Doran was inside their compound, some of the Latinos came forward to physically abuse him — and the accompanying prison guards shielded him from the attacks. The female guard from the watchtower began to fire warning shots in the air to keep the obstreperous mob below at bay.

The Preacher was yanked towards Warden Graves and Capt. Olsen, who waited at the soccer goalpost mouth. Behind them was a peevish glowering Corporal Vinnie the Evil Midget, with a plastered bandage on her face. Everyone present slowly settled down, when Warden Graves began addressing the gathered crowd of the Hispanic gangbangers...

"This convict has attacked and very daringly injured one of my guards — and he has also been causing unrest amongst the prison staff and other prisoners alike, since the day he set foot into Tombscradle..."

For the first time, the Warden had to impose public corporal punishment on Doran— after he had head-butted the Evil Midget's face and broke her nose during the semen-milking sessions at the auditorium that morning. It was not the first time he had festered trouble in his entire five years in Tombscradle — and as a result, Doran in the past spent many months in a year locked in the solitary holding as his punishment — but, he kept returning back from the abatement, with no sense of any remorse at all for his rebelliousness...

The Warden wished she could 'green-light' him — in an unseen '10-10 Furlong' incident in the penitentiary — but she could not — because all-knowing Washington held some special interest in him for his crimes for killing five e-SWAT personnel. Someone in the Whitehouse by the name of Agatha Wolfe even had in the past, contacted the Warden — to check if the 'scar-faced boy' was still alive...

"Now tell me — does the Preacher deserve to be punished?"

The whole Hispanic denizens echoed of their consent in an uproar...

"Then, let justice be served..."

Warden Graves nodded to Headbull Anderson who then instructed her guards to fasten and suspend Doran by his wrists on the crossbar of the soccer goalpost.

He peered dolorously out of the barred window of his cell in C-block. The seventeen-year-old Michael was wearing a monk-robe top, made out of his blanket — a practice that was first actuated by Doran himself, five years ago.

His cell-block was a distant opposite across on the other side to the Latino compound, where no one could hear what Warden Graves had alleged — but everyone knew, about the injustice in Tombscradle, of how the warden favoured the Hispanics to get her dirty deeds done. In return, she granted them the endowment of privileges from the proviso of salubrious rations — and even the budget to grow grass for their soccer pitch in the desert prison yard. It was all done to keep the order among the Latinos inmates in her tight-ship prison administration.

But the gap of unfair imbroglio among their rivals of gangs had caused more dilated detachment with the Blacks. Recently, the situation had rankled the warden, when allegations spread of Doran's promising of starting his revolution to subvert Tombscradle. This currently had struck fear in the guards, and the Hispanic inmates — of a possible riot by their Black rivals.

Now, Warden Emma Graves really needed to break him today — and deliver the message to abate his hopeful followers with a precedent — 'those Niggers who supported the Preacher and his malcontent ideas would be severely dealt later — by suffering like him tied to the goalpost!'

*

The twelve-year-old scar-faced boy sat alone on the bleacher with his trembling hands on his head, weeping softly in guilt-filled remorse of the sordid acts committed inside the Auditorium. Things were getting close to the worse every hour for him, since only days ago when the uniformed forces commandeered the monks by force after destroying the St. Mary's orphanage — and sending the survived orphaned monks to Tombscradle.

The rebel monk had not obtained the time nor had space for him to peacefully mourn and pray for Sister Lisa Marie's departed soul, without the mass distraction and prison regulations that now enslaved him here. He wished hard that there would be a sanctum in this prison — where he could be isolated in stillness, to do his ritual of communicating privately with all the voices in his head...

The voices have returned again last night to plague him when he was in his cell...

The unrest souls were accusing him of the deaths in the Cathedral and Convent. They blamed him of being a failure as a Soldier of God. But, soon Sister Lisa Marie came in serenity and sang requiems as lullabies to him — and that was how he finally slept on the first night in his prison crib floor.

Doran wiped his tears in a state of lassitude and looked in moral veracity at the crowd of new faces in the exercise yard — it was like a busy market-place — of disparate boys who were of his age, although many were not from the abbey. Watching them made him antithetic in disarray...

'They needed guidance, and finally, be liberated!'

Some were even adjusting well 'inside' into the peccadillo of prison-life — those like the braggart Kiki-boy who was 'head-running' about his earlier sex-doll experience at the Auditorium to the other Wesleyan boys — displaying it with his pelvis-moves...

'They need to be saved!'

At the far corner, the petulant Headbull Anderson was calling new names of the next scheduled batch to be 'milked' at the Auditorium — flocking them over like a herd into the 'house of sin' — where their seeds were collected to reproduce more evil into the world...

'The sordid house should be burnt to the ground!'

He had grown up in the monastery where he was taught to refrain from his urges to masturbate — since his age of attaining maturity. But today, he had committed a great mortal sin. The vivid flash of thoughts of the porn movie and the face of the blond sex doll tormented him further — with the mocking laughter of Corporal Vinnie circling inside his head, haunting his Christian soul...

'Yes, burn the prison to the ground, with every one of the evil bitches in it!'

He had a prodigious task to inculcate for his God — to save every one of the stained souls in Tombscradle. Doran begins to pray with contrition and self-confession, with his eyes shut tight...

"Forgive me, Father, for I have deeply sinned..."

A familiar voice interrupted with laughter.

"Shut up Doran, you did enjoy putting your cock into that doll!"

He glanced up at his dead mother sitting beside him on the bleacher. Her alto pitched laughter induced more mockery than of Corporal Vinnie's...

"What are you doing here, Mother?"

"My little abomination is now a little man. Come now, tell your Mother about your first fuck."

"Shut up, you are dead, you whore of Babylon! Begone now, I say! I will make sure your kind in this prison will burn in Hell forever!"

Doran was cursing and he meandered away from the bleacher. Kiki and his group were amused to see the blanket-robed monk madly nattering to himself with neurotic cursing. The Wesleyans laughed and teased...

"Get your 'bug-juice,' you ding!"

The voices were still tagging along with him.

"You love getting your cock hard don't you, my dirty demon? You even watched my clothes burning behind that door and you saw me naked — do you think of me naked during your nights alone, Doran? Do you, my lustful demonic son?"

"No, I don't! You are dead to me, Mother — now, leave me alone!"

More hilarity laughter of the boys surrounded him — and it maddened him more seeing them — a hand grabbed him, and in reflex, he turned back and nearly attacked Peter who was one of his fellow monk-boy from the monastery. He almost punched him in the face because he could not recognize Peter — in his 'peel' of the new given orange prison attire — that they were now forced to wear.

"Doran, please come — it is Michael, please help him." Peter entreated.

*

The dehydrated Reeves was getting a quaff drink of water at the public tap — the desert heat was unbearable — after years of conducive living in the air-conditioned surroundings inside the classroom walls of Wesleyan facility...

Joe approached him, limping over by the fall he had at the Wesleyan's wall days ago. They both had not spoken much to each other for the past three days since their failed escape episode at the school's wall. Reeves knew Joe had eschewed from talking about it nor did Reeves want to bring it up — but, it had already driven a wedge between them...

"They will call my name up, and I am in the next batch, Reeves — what's going on at the Auditorium?"

At the same moment then — Reeves was distracted by Doran — the prominent, attired blanket robe-monk in the yard was rushing over somewhere. The curious Reeves stood up and paced to follow Doran and Peter...

"It ain't nothing, just follow their instructions and you will be good, Joe."

Reeves felt Joe would be suited fine for the milking undertaking here — although the food served was substandard in both taste and quantity at the Tombscradle's prison mess hall — but, Joe would love the sex-dolls in the Auditoriums as a trade-off.

"Hey! Where are you going, man?" Reeves did not respond back to Joe — he followed behind the two shaven-headed boys...

Doran reached to a group of boys from the monastery who tried calming down the abject Michael in the orange prison suit — seated on the sand — he was wailing uncontrollably at the antithetic life that he was forced into...

"I can't live here and do these depraved acts — I will end up as a dirty sinner, and I will go to hell if I keep living here — I want to die — Oh God, please let me die!"

Peter prepared Doran upon reaching...

"He has been like that since he got back from the Auditorium — Doran, what did happen over there?"

Reeves reached the small crowd and stood behind, seeing him walking up to the abbey boys and they reverently stepped aside. He yanked Michael by the collar of his prison uniform and stood him on his feet — Doran stared into his vapid eyes...

"Do you want to die, Michael!!? I can be your Angel of Death!"

Doran punched Michael's face — and he fell back on his back on the dirt — Doran continued to kick him several times — just as how the e-SWAT soldier kicked him for avenging her friend whom he killed at the Convent...

"Doran! What are you doing? Stop!" Peter screamed out.

The boys from the abbey saw the disoriented Michael now with a broken upper lip, looking up afraid — at all the peering eyes, seeing the angry Doran...

Head-bull Anderson turned and noticed the commotion on the other end of the yard — and she shouted in her loud-hailer...

"HEY YOU THERE, SKINHEAD FUCKERS — CUT IT OUT!"

This quiddity grabbed the attention of the gang member heads — Hajja of the BGF Blacks — and Ramirez of the Texas Chicanos — both the racial leaders peered from behind at their respective partition fences, looking at the tumult in the White turf.

The Hispanics gangbangers joked that the laggard monks have renounced their celibacy vows — and were now fighting over to 'jump the broom' with the sex dolls.

Doran stopped attacking — and the other boys aided Michael back on his feet. Doran approached and faced him again, gritting his teeth...

"Hey you listen to me, you ungrateful coward — those nuns at the Convent gave up their lives so that we can live — and now, you wish to die!!?

"They had high hopes for you, Michael — Mother Superior, Sister Margaret and all the other sisters who saw you as our leader — and they had great hopes, that you also make it as a Bishop of the Holy Church one day!"

"But I have failed, Doran — I am weak and I am no longer fit to lead. My failure has led to our brothers to drown at the Convent — even Matthew is dead." Michael revealed the ruefulness stigma that had grown in him since...

Reeves saw Doran slapping Michael again — and, he warned with his pointy finger and his stern eyes locked.

"Listen here, we are all put here in this man-made hell for one good reason, which is to spread the Ministry of God — and you, Michael — you are going to lead these boys from the monastery to accomplish that, whether you want it or not — because it is the Will of God that decides — and that is not your choice — but, it is a command of God!"

Reeves saw a mutable Doran now; in comparison with the frightened boy at the auditorium from that morning — and he heeded as Doran continued his tenet to the rest of the bald monk-boys in the prison uniforms...

"Remember all of you, we are going to grow in numbers soon — and, we are going to grow strong by the Will of the Holy Spirit! Until the day will come, then, we are next going to break the Walls of this place down, and we will trample on its rubble — and then, we will all march out from here as an army of brothers with the burning spirit of the Sacred Heart of Our Lord Jesus Christ leading us all!"

Reeves did not understand a word of what Doran was saying — but, he was sold by the terse message of 'walls' that they were going to break down. He stood beside the rest of the timorous White boys — of both secular onlookers and the abbey monk-boys — as they all witnessed the charismatic Doran, who had enlightened everyone around him, at that moment in the prison yard...

They were all mesmerized by his words of hope...

"That glorious day will only come after when all of you here go out and spread the Word of the Gospel to every soul out here — and unite them with God. Once that unison is achieved, only then the righteous can seek justice.

"Only then, we can all fight and defeat the wicked women who are in control of us in here — yes, I will then personally cut their hearts out wide open before you all, and I will deliver every single one of them back to hell!

Everyone here, now listen — and you mark my words, that my will be done!"

Michael nodded with tears in his eyes — he stood with the rest of the monks, along with the other White spectators who listened to the promises that Doran made that day. They knew that the formerly ostracized monk from the monastery was that special leader — who would give them hope and would keep them alive in the prison.

On that third day in Tombscradle — Doran was already known to many as the Preacher — the cataclysm voice of the Soldier of God had spoken to prepare the people for that Redemption Day that was to come...

*

An older Michael, in a blanket-robe, looked out of his prison barred window, at the naked Doran with his wrists tied-up high at the goal post, in the Latino compound in the yard — punished for the promise he first made five years ago, to retaliate against the warden's prison system.

The crowd of Latinos cheered aloud to support when the bulky Captain of Guards Olsen, who approached the dangling scar-faced youth. Olsen removed her uniform shirt and she was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt inside — effrontery exposure of her corpulent biceps, with nefarious White Supremacy tattoos and other Nazi swastika manifesto ink — which even made some of the Latino onlookers peevish...

Capt. Olsen stepped up, holding a four-foot-long rattan Singapore cane — she positioned herself before she unleashed the first whip on Doran's back — he yelled out in agony, while the surrounding cheering of the Latinos drowned his tortured cry. Olsen wiped the blood that had splat at her own face by the backlash, before forwarding the second blow — it was also a message to all that no one would ever mess with her cousin — nor — with any member of the Aryan Nation guards against that day onwards...

Michael cried tears after seeing more lashes were delivered. He prayed softly...

"Doran, you are a true Soldier of Christ, stay strong my Brother — the Spirit of God is with you always. Amen."

Doran's back bled while tied high on to the Hispanic goalpost.

Thousands of eyeballs witnessed the Preacher twitching in the bloodied anguish woes — many nearby hooted and jeered — while others afar, wept that day.