A FEMALE guard from the watchtower peered into her binoculars and spotted three elite force buses coming in the horizon towards the prison in Arizona—that also held inmates for Cory's semen milking scheme. The woman at the tower forewarned into her walkie-talkie...

"Oh my God—they are here, quick, alert the warden, over!"

The Captain of the Guard inside the prison building was also warned, and she drew every banal guard's unprecedented attention...

"We are being attacked—sound the alarm!"

Hundreds of unkempt and squalid Intersexuals in that badly managed prison yard looked up to the alarming tocsin that blared out above...

The three black buses drove side by side, taking up the entire two-way road—the bus on the left and right slowed down and the centre vehicle sped forward. The other two buses swerved and got into a rearward position—both then steered in reverse to catch up with the epicentre-bus.

The main bus halted fifty yards away from the prison main gate—the tower guards fired their machine guns at the bulletproof windshield buses. Scores of Hispanics alighted from the exit entrance of the other two buses—Ramirez instructed them in Spanish to fire their thumpers. The missiles hit the outer prison walls with a great explosion, bringing down huge chunks of concretes—the watchtowers were shot down next.

A figure in a monk robe alighted from the bus with a machine gun in his hand—he removed the covered hood to reveal his scarred face. The Latinos beside him stopped firing. The smoke and dust settled with a big gap on the prison wall—and the prisoners can now see their liberators outside—

One of the inmates cried out.

"Look! It is the one whom they call The Preacher—he has come to break us all out!"

The prisoners' merriment was short-lived; a platoon of armed riot guards unit intervened and they forced the Intersexuals back into their prison blocks with warning shots in the air—some of the revolting prisoners were shot dead at point-blank.

Ramirez and his cohorts of pandilleros stormed in for an offence attack on the guards into the open prison yard—the fierce gun battle aggravated with the prison guards falling dead on the sand—reliving similar uprising moments of Tombscradle a month ago in Texas.

Doran was unperturbed as he walked among the dead perished on the sand—and the surviving tenuous prisoners in threadbare orange garbs flocked towards him in their hundreds.

He called out to them...

"Come, my brothers—lets us go out there and be fishers of men!"

The prisoners chanted the Preacher's name vivaciously before the three busloads of detainees with many more on the roofs drove away from the destructed prison walls.

This was the fourth penitentiary that the Preacher had commenced his rescue vocation since the major fall of Tombscradle.