I cut across the prison yard while the rain runs down, turning the dirt into mud.

The layout of this yard is very strange but simple, four bus stop like benches surrounded a big square area of mud and dirt.

Guards were the only ones allowed on the dirt, they were known as ‘ Mud maners' who stayed on the mud due to their own safety and for an advantage in a riot which is very soon to come.

Most times, this bacchanal is only ephemeral; but this time is gonna be filled with determination, no such deju vu.

At strictly 17:00, the first prisoner, the first fault, rushed onto the muddy lands; one cell mad chain in his hand. He starts swiping at the security guards who restrain him but more start keeping, flooding the bases of order.

Blood ricocheting off the bodies of broken livers,bones,blood clotted hearts. As time progresses, there are seem to be some with even more well made weapons such as cheap carbon steel blades and tools that are stolen from the workshop.

The skin of prey and predators rip from its bones and spreads onto the mud, non stop violence in every corner of the surface.