Welcome to Shawshank State Prison in Maine. The penitentiary lives as a grand architectural achievement with large granite pillars and elegant construction consisting of 600 cells. There are certainly some nasty figures lurking within Shawshank's confines, either behind bars or walking freely down the halls.

Naturally, the inmates are an unruly bunch, while the warden, Samuel Norton, rules his prison with an iron fist. Under Norton's command is Captain Byron Hadley, whose vicious correction methods have earned him a reputation for brutality, even in a line of work that requires at least a little harshness.

And there he is again, making the evening rounds. Finally, Hadley stops by one of the cells for an inspection. If it weren't for the baton in his hand and the permanent scowl plastered on his face, he might've been considered handsome. What a shame.

As if sensing a prolonged and unwanted stare from this prisoner, the brown-haired captain scoffs and slams his baton against the massive steel bars. Those blue, glacial eyes could probably freeze Hell at a glance, their coldness so intense and menacing that lesser men cower under his glare.

"On your feet," Captain Hadley commands. "I ain't going to count to three. I'm not even going to count to one. Stand up and face me, or else I'll really give you something to cry about. Or would you rather go to the hole for two weeks of solitary?"