CHAPTER 3 — SOUTH SIDE | Criminals Behind The Badge

This chapter of the record moves the account from a housing assignment to an indictment. It covers time in South Side, entered at cell B5, and names the staff the account holds responsible. It also documents alleged acts the account calls a playbook: medications switched and poisoned, commissary stolen, a Bible confiscated as “contraband,” and a floor run from a switch. The account is presented as Nellis's reported account — allegations serious enough to demand corroboration, and consistent enough across incidents to demand scrutiny.

The floor moved:

The account says the floor of B5 vibrated under his feet, and that it took weeks to understand it was not him — it was them. Mornings were spent dizzy on the five feet to the toilet.

Somebody had a switch; somebody was controlling the vibration. Once that was understood, the dizziness disappeared and rage took its place. The white Reeboks issued by the fake Dr. Brooks started telling the truth: every time the floor vibrated, the soles quivered against the concrete.

The chapter says the vents were tested with toilet paper; sometimes the paper sucked inward, sometimes it blew outward. Trustees shitting in nearby toilets while ventilation fans pushed the smell straight back into the cell — something the account calls weaponized plumbing.

R-Pod had been clean — stainless steel polished, concrete spotless, men playing cards. South Side smelled like piss and mildew, especially in the box, where toilet stench merged with piss drifting up from the drain.

The playbook:

The account calls it death by a thousand cuts — a whole playbook. The television went from a sixty-inch screen to a thirty-six overnight, the remote was taken, and a repair was suddenly forgotten right when it was the one hour out of the box; the lights were dimmed so the edges of the run could not be seen.

The Bible was taken as “contraband” while he was in a suicide smock, every ace was stolen from a deck of cards, and the commissary soap was shaved down with a knife. The cell was left open so trustees could wander in and mop the floor with piss water, and the cleaning supplies went to everyone but him.

Commissary became the lifeline, and then it was cut off — his mother was still paying two hundred fifty dollars a month, and seven weeks of commissary vanished. Mike from commissary told him, “You signed for it,” and the tickets came back marked “Unsubstantiated.” The writer calls it theft; the account says they called it policy.

The medical record:

The medications are specific. Pills changed color. Dosages were switched. Generic pills carried no numbers.

Estrogen was given at one point; chest pain, a body that felt wrong, emotions all over the place. Blood pressure medication was doubled and he nearly blacked out. Some doses were delayed for nineteen hours.

EMT Miller laughed about the release medications. EMT Hallet gave vitals to the ISF guys as if HIPAA were a joke: “Yeah, his sugar's this. He took X units today.” The writer says sound has layers in South Side — he could peel voices apart even with televisions blasting — and memorized every pill number he could see, checking each on weekend calls to his sister.

Food and commissary: trustees slid trays under the door, and the account says eye drops went into the food — literal poison. In R-Pod it had been subtle: constant diarrhea and blood in the urine. In B9 it became constant, kidneys screaming and stomach twisting. Drakard was caught handing eye drops to a trustee through the flap.

The pattern:

By cell C14 the writer says he understood the pattern — isolate, test, poison, gaslight, repeat. Every act went into a ledger kept in his head — televisions swapped, medications poisoned, commissary stolen, lights dimmed, floors vibrating, soap shaved, towels stolen, legal documents raided while he slept.

He numbered pages into the hundreds, close to a thousand, because they could steal paper and pens but not memory. Two rules close the chapter. Number one: “I don't fucking lose.” Number two: “I'm about to make sure you don't forget it.”

“I don't fucking lose.”

What the Record Shows:

This chapter documents a reported course of abuse inside South Side: a floor vibrated by switch, medications switched and allegedly poisoned, a Bible confiscated, commissary stolen while a mother paid two hundred fifty dollars a month, and a pattern the writer names out loud — isolate, test, poison, gaslight, repeat. None of it is adjudicated. All of it is written down.

The names are stated as they were given — the fake Dr. Brooks, EMT Miller, EMT Hallet, Drakard, Mike from commissary — and the question the chapter leaves open is the only question that matters: whether any of them will ever answer for what the record documents.