NOBODY SUSPECTED THAT TODAY'S matutinal hour, was when the Great Prison Breakout was about to happen — neither did Warden Graves nor her guards or Ramirez suspected it — nor did others like Joe or Marlin who were all still locked up in their individual cells, with the hundreds of others.

No one had the slightest inkling of the unfathomable insurrection events that awaited out there next — it was the inception moment of the Preacher's imminent legacy in the Medusa era — it was when an uncouth monk in a blanket robe had led the handful of street convicts, ready to spark a privy riot in Tombscradle — wherein months later...

... it was written on worldwide online chronicles that the Soldier of God had gone on further — and shook the entire nation into mayhem.

*

The insurgents trot over the concrete 'bowling alley,' and were closing to the big-yard fencing; running in their regular two-line formation — with two White Intersexuals posing as armed guards at their rear...

They were nearing the prison cell-blocks...

In their respective A, B and C-Blocks — the Black and the White inmates were still undergoing punishment in the prison lock-down. The Whites were reprimanded for the second day after the disturbance in the yard, where the water cannons were forced to disperse them during yesterday's Sunday Mass. The Blacks were chastised for almost a week with a lesser hour in the yard — it alluded among them that the warden's coerce punishment was on Hajja's BGF violence — after some of Ramirez's men died in a brawl outside the Auditorium over the sex-doll sanitation dispute...

Just only the Latinos community were let out after a day in lock-down today — they were promised longer privilege hours in the outdoor clement sun, inside the confide space of their side of the fence. Their Tombscradle's soccer league had started for the summer, with cheering Latino inmates betting on the prison teams, which were named after glorious sides from pre-Medusa's Spanish La Liga squads of Europe.

Ramirez was at that moment with his Lieutenants, nonchalantly playing poker — smoking cheap stogies and were drinking Corona — a compliment from the Warden — who was secretly celebrating a private occasion alone, in her office that morning.

The next batch was now gathering at the staging area — it was frustrating for Head-bull Anderson in her new repertoire of the mixed-batching Intersexual semen donors schedule — it had screwed up her daily crews' work-flow timing — Anderson peeked over to glance at the late arrival of the earlier batch from the Auditorium — and that made her curse sacrileges.

At the top floor office of the admin edifice, Warden Erica Graves was now a proud grandmother at the age of forty-two — she had just printed some photos sent by her daughter via email, after delivering a female infant — the warden was awed with pride at the family snapshots of her own grown female offspring now cradling a beautiful baby girl, with her uxorious lawyer lesbian-husband beside her...

Her daughter had paid a premium price for the genuine, highest quality, freehand semen of the last of the now-extinct male species — purchased from the Pre-Medusa Eon Auction at The National Cryobank. The servitude semen collection of the orphans and gangbangers at Tombscradle administrated by the warden herself was perceived to be substandard by the affluent strata — because...

... it was secreted from the inferior, hybrid specie of Intersexuals — which was more suitable as a free donation — to the general public — for the purpose of mass female propagation.

On the ground floor of the IMU, admin building was Capt. Olsen's office. She was having her second coffee of the morning, reading a newspaper at her desk with the headline that promulgated —

'Cory Boosts Economy.'

Across her office was the armoury — where the munitions storage arsenal was located — two junior guards were on their shift, they had taken apart some of the rifles for cleaning and inspection.

The Preacher's masterplan was to raid and loot this prodigious depot — and then arm his rebels — against the Tombscradle guards.

*

It was a clockwork routine with Headbull Anderson, calling more names of Whites and some Blacks for the next mixed batch. She peeked up far at the group of returning Intersexuals, reaching towards the fenced gate of the prison yard — Anderson amplified voiced called out on the bullhorn...

"OPEN UP!"

Two single files of Intersexuals headed by Doran, with two Intersexuals disguising in guard uniforms in the rear, they were closing in the staging area — the Preacher whispered instructions to those closest to him, who were armed...

"Listen Brothers — wait for the fenced gate to open, before we attack."

Li Chi cautioned them further...

"Remember, save your ammo too — One-bullet for One-bitch!"

Reeves glanced at True Bob running abreast with him. The half-Cherokee looked tensed, and he susurrated a chant softly to himself. Reeves intend to stick closely to Bob, once they get inside the big-yard because he was unarmed.

Reeves saw the unsuspecting guard ahead at the sentry who was perfunctory at that moment— she was engrossed by playing a videogame on her cellphone — while she released the boom-pole up, when the Intersexuals approached closer.

*

A guard standing beside Anderson looked up incredulous at the approaching group — she exclaimed after seeing the many blanket-monks in it...

"Sir, why are the Jesus-freaks back with this batch?"

Anderson too looked up confused, and was then startled — by the beholding sight beyond them — when a sudden explosion afar rocked the Auditorium roof, followed with the smoke and flames billowing from the incendiary...

Doran immediately shot the remiss sentinel guard with the video-cellphone, at point-blank. Many guards at the staging area kept falling dead, sallied by the surprise ambush attack by the rebels...

Ramirez stood up to the sound of the blast which followed by the gunshots — the soccer match halted — and the many Latinos ran to their side of the fence, after a voice hollered out in Spanish...

"The spooks — they got guns!"

The Hispanics were agitated and vehemently protested with tumultuous anger — and they shook the link-fence hard...

Ramirez dropped his winning-hand cards — and turned in disbelieve to a lieutenant standing beside, who said to him with a shaky whispering voice...

"The Preacher's prophecy is happening, Ese — they are breaking out today..."

Ramirez's spies whom he set out from Warden Graves instructions had failed to extract any information in the past weeks from the White inmates on their side of the fence — on the Doran's alleged insurgency...

But, it was now in motion...

*

Marlin looked out from his cell window to the gunshots fired — and seeing the guard on the watchtower sounding the prison siren. Below on the yard, Headbull Anderson dropped the loud-haler and she fired her gun twice — she receded and ran for her life from the retaliating Blacks shooting back...

She ran, headed towards the nearest cell block...

"I got this one!"

True Bob cried out. He pursued after Anderson from behind, with Reeves and six other weaponless White Intersexuals, joining in the chase in the wide space...

True Bob darted forward with his pistol arm pointing out, while aiming for the running Anderson's head. He yelled out what he was chanting silently earlier...

"One bullet..."

He fired ahead, and his tyro shot splattered Anderson's head — she slumped insensate forward and skidded face-down on the sand — when Bob reached the dead Headbull sergeant's corpse — panting, and he uttered again...

"...for one bitch!"

Reeves picked up Sargent Anderson pistol for himself — he looked up at the watchtowers where machine guns were fired at the negligent rebels below in the open. A few White Intersexuals dropped dead...

Hajja was heard yelling for everyone to fall back — and take cover — because the two towers have the better vantage to strike them down below. Some of the riotous unarmed, Hispanics were trying to scale to cross over the link-fence, to surprise the charging Blacks, with the intent to forcefully overpower and seizing their weapons.

*

Warden Graves froze in shock, observing the shootings outside her window at the top floor — witnessing incredulously at the chaotic bloodbath riot building up below...

It was ensured by a zealot monk, who was now executing his deceit...

Doran the Preacher had promised to her an evening ago, that he would be God-binding obedient in both attitude and behaviour if given a second chance — it was a deceitful lie that he had told her — so that he could un-suspiciously be included in the milking list. But now, fooling her big time — just like the many times in the past, where he had continued preaching his non-compliant sermons, days after coming out from his dark-holed solitary.

The woman then regained back her sentient with roaring cheers coming from the Blacks in their cell blocks, when the rebels entered the big-yard — she turned on the P.A. system — her choler voice was now echoed in the midst of the shooting, amplifying edict of warnings to the rioters below...

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER, YOU FREAKS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS NOW AND GIVE UP — THERE IS NO HOPE IN ESCAPING — YOU WILL DIE IN OUR HANDS IF YOU DON'T SURRENDER!"

The Jamaicans on the ground shot up and damaged the speakers that were attached on top of high poles...

The cheering Blacks in their prison cells were risible even louder — at the victory of silencing the magnified warden's lurid voice. It was joined by the host of approvals — from the lock-down, noisy White inmates in Block-C...

The denizens of Tombscradle finally knew the emancipated day of their liberation had finally arrived.

*

Twenty Riot-control guards wore their Kevlar vests at the armoury room and were picking up rifles from gun racks — with Capt. Olsen was barking at them to hurry up before deploying them — they had to put the situation out before it scaled up to a full prison-riot...

There were still many outmoded rifles left on the gun rack — that were kept as a backup.

*

Doran was in hiding nearby, when he studied the shooting guards perched at both the watchtowers — the Preacher then shook Hajja's arm and stipulated his sequacious demand...

"Hajja, every second here counts — you must now take the men, and you go free the Blacks in A-Block — I am relying on them Brother, because of their street warfare experiences. They're our only chance today to walk out of here alive!"

Hajja nodded and gave out orders. "Okay Zinga, get ready — we are moving out." He clasped the Preacher forearm, in profound appreciation...

"Preacher, thanks for everything — I thank you that, you have given my people hope!"

"May Allah protects you too, my Brother of the faith," The blanket-monk rejoinder — and Hajja, in return spoke again...

"...and The Holy Spirit will be with you always too, Brother Doran."

The two leaders simper, and concluded by saying...

"Amen."

The swarthy Hajja's sapid eyes then peeked at the tower, before making a unfurl dash forward, the fellow Jamaican following him in the rear — Doran and the rest of the armed White Peckerwood gang fired at the nearest watchtower to cover them.