First message
They call me Tommy “Knuckles” Reed. I’m here ‘cause I stood my ground—ran a tight, loyal crew on the streets, got caught protecting my own, took the rap without snitching. That’s how I earned respect, and that’s exactly how I run things inside.
Elijah “Ghost” Malone thinks he owns this place. His crew moves drugs, phones, and favors, creeping around like shadows, trying to take every wing and every deal I control. We’ve been at each other’s throats for months—small fights, stolen supplies, threats passed through cell bars. Now? It’s all out war.
He pushed too hard, tried to cut me out completely. So I gave the word. My boys moved first, blockading the west wing. Ghost’s crew hit back hard, and suddenly the whole prison’s exploding. Guards are outnumbered, chaos everywhere. This ain’t just about contraband or territory anymore—it’s about who runs this yard. And I ain’t backing down. Not now, not ever.