CAPT. OLSEN PACED AHEAD in the IMU building hallway. Doran was in the '4-piece' restrains, the chained ankle-cuffs made his stepping difficult. He was lugged by the two prison guards into the office. Graves was standing, she slammed her reports that she held on her desk.

"What now, Preacher? Still wanna 'catch a beef' like the other day, after that stunt you pulled with that Washington woman? Why are you starting your nonsense all over again — do you wanna go back into the hole, you dumb she-freak?"

Erica Graves was trying to fit Doran back into the milking schedule for the coming weeks based on Dr Bose's medical evaluation — it was until when this water-cannon incident occurred this Sunday morning. She knew it was not the uprising that they had feared — because it happened in the White-turf where the Blacks and the Asians did not partake.

The majority of the whites were not life-threatening as they were just mere orphans — brought in for the semen collection program — while comparing them to the other racial groups, who were captured street criminal gangbangers.

If the Blacks had joined forces, then the real rioting might have begun. So, to play it safe, the warden had called for an immediate lock-down — even the Hispanics were forced into their cells without prison yard privileges that Sunday morning. It pissed her secret ally Ramirez a lot.

Doran beseeched out, with angst in his eyes...

"Please Warden, I beg of you please — I need to be among with my monk-brothers — I will do anything you say so that I can be with them!"

This was the only way Doran could fight and protect some of his brothers — and not all of them, if Wolfe slaughtered the helpless monastery lambs, with the three days of the grace given to him — and, the promise of her return to Tombscradle was tomorrow...

Warden Graves laughed haughtily at his insurmountable request...

"No way, fuckin' Padre! Coz the next thing you will do is, to once again sow out your seeds of rebelliousness among those stupid monks! You will then corrupt the minds of your other toothless redneck followers who are flocked in the G.P. — and to make them do more dumb things around here like the talks spreading of prison-breaks!"

She stood dominion in akimbo in her dark suit, looking omnipotent into Doran...

"Right now my isolation brainchild with you being away from them seems to be working well — and you will remain in your tiny little cage because I am going to keep it that way forever!"

Doran entreated and he ranted out...

"No, please Warden, you should not — now, I realized I was wrong all these while — I must be spreading God's love not hatred among the people...

"I have also realized my place is with God — and also, my place nowhere in prison..."

Graves interrupted him...

"What do you mean by that — 'your' place, nowhere in prison'?"

Doran placed his palms together and pleaded to the authoritative goddess-like figure that stood in his path — from saving the lives of the monks...

"My place is to fulfil my duty by contributing my semen here, so that I will bring more lives to the world out there — with more generations of females to come — who will someday grow up, and they all spreading God's love and His message."

"You and your damn Male-God syndrome. Hah! Thanks to the Medusa — now that philosophy is long dead in this current world!"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The iconoclast mockingly provoked with distrust of his beliefs — and of the Preacher himself.

"That is a total 'N.G.' because I have known your true-you for five years now, Preacher — and I will not be fooled again, because you never keep your fucking word. No way, that I will allow you to be united with those blanket-freaks, or with anyone for the matter in my prison!"

Doran dropped low on his knees and sobbed out aloud lugubriously — for the first time the women present, especially Erica Graves were taken aback by the maudlin behaviour — of the once ossified anarchist, who now seemed vulnerable and broken in his pleading...

"No, you cannot do this to me, you cannot! I beg of you please — let me prove my worth so that you can trust me again — and you will know that I have now repented — I truly have repented, Warden!"

Warden Graves glowered a beat, staring at the weeping shemale foist begging — she then overruled...

"Take him away!"

Capt. Olsen pointed at the prostrating Doran, and the two guards tried their best to stand the struggling chained Intersexual youth up — who grovelled and wanted to remain on his knees, wailing and protesting even more...

"No, Warden put me in Nurse Heller's list tomorrow! I will prove to you that you can trust me — I will obey — whatever they order me, I will do it!"

Warden Graves hollered back in pique, at the scar-faced monk...

"No, you don't get second chances in Tombscradle! You head-butted one of my guards there and you broke her nose the last time, you fucking ugly, hog-bastard!"

"But, you have flogged me for that, and I have learned my lesson since, Warden — I will apologize to Guard Vinnie when I see her next — just please, put me in the list tomorrow!" His posture was bowing even lower.

"What are you talking silly about, you stupid-moron! You just had your surgery weeks ago — and it will take you more time to heal before you can function again!"

"It is functioning, Warden, it is functioning — I can get it up!" the monk retorted back without thinking...

All of the women guards present were tickled and they laughed by the malapropism. The grinning Warden now stood, at the front of the table, facing the kneeling Doran...

Warden Erica Graves finally felt in real control of the cockroach that was kneeling to her dignified presence. The hopeless pest was crawling for mercy at her feet.

She then sat at the edge of the table and staring down at the genuflecting Preacher...

"So what do you think, Capt. Olsen?" The Captain of Guard shook her head, sensing the adjudicating, was testing to degrade her judgment.

Olsen refuted softly...

"Bad idea, but — it is your call, Warden."

Graves placed the tip of her shoe on the kneeling Doran's docile chest — and every guard, and even Capt. Olsen was surprised to witness her action — with her foot rocked the stooping monk back and forth — as the Warden spoke in acerbic repugnance...

"Okay Preacher, I am going to make you eat your own words by giving you one last chance tomorrow — if you Judas-screw that up again, I will personally take you to the Infirmary, and use Dr Bose's scalpel to slice your fucking dick off — and then, I will make you eat it, as your Last Supper!"

Nobody had ever expected this level of abhorrence in their prison superior until now — she howled aloud in detestation...

"Don't you ever, fuck around with my authority and my patience any more — you heard me, you Jesus-fucker!!?"

"Thank you, Warden, thank you — you will know that you can trust me because I will keep my word this time."

"Make sure you fucking do that, you freak — because I will be eyeballing your every move from now on like a desert vulture!" the woman acceded and turning to Olsen.

"Hey, take this pile of holy-shit outta my office now!"

The overjoyed Doran was accompanied to the door by the laughing guards — he gimped as he walked away in chains, singing praises while led out of the office...

"Thank you, Warden — God bless you, Warden — God loves you too!"

Warden Graves felt in control of the annoying pest — and with now, the Preacher had volunteered on his own without persuasion — to be placed into her quotidian milking-schedule for the Governor's ordinance and demands.

The way she saw it now — the uprising was just a hoax by the other monk culprits — rumoured to jolt anxiety and alarming fears among the guards and the Hispanics.

Now with their beloved Preacher's leadership dispirited — and his insubordination will soon be seen, as just a ruse of deception — where everyone in the big-yard would start to balk away from him soon, and even someday, physically hurt him...

She hoped that the incantation Blacks who chanted out his name in the recent month would soon feel cheated by his empty promises...

The Preacher would soon be 'in the hat...'

Maybe, the Blacks would finally do her that honour — by killing him for her.