Instantly, the entire block exploded into total chaos.
Inmates from every tier surged toward the railings, slamming their fists against the steel bars and shouting until their voices went raw. Some egged them on, while others yelled warnings, anticipating the immediate response from security. The noise became a physical force, vibrating through the concrete floor beneath our boots.
“Get off the floor! On the wall, NOW!”
The heavy steel access door crashed open, and blue uniforms poured into the run. Officer Vance was in the lead, his face pale and slick with sweat, baton drawn as he assessed the situation in a heartbeat. Behind him came four more guards, boots skidding on the slick floor as they dove straight into the pile.
It wasn’t a clean intervention—it never is. It was a chaotic, wrestling mass of orange jumpsuits and dark blue tactical gear. Vance threw his weight onto Miller’s shoulder, trying to pry his arms back, while two other officers pinned Mateo’s legs before he could gain leverage.
