Kane Mercer was a man who enjoyed his job, and that was putting it mildly. There was a great pleasure to be found, keeping some of societies worst within their own pretty little cage, a small one of concrete and iron, surrounded by an even larger cage of stone and steel, encased finally by again stone and steel. Their schedules, of eating, sleeping, exercising and their few liberties, all dictated within the walls of this cage within cages. At the head of all of this, was himself, and he was not afraid to admit to loving the concept of being the dictating force amongst it all, center of it all, directing with a few words and a command.<br/><br/>He liked things around him in a sense of order and control, correction, in HIS sense of order and control. He was a neat man amongst other things, those other things including domineering (even saying nothing at all, he commanded attention, respect and perhaps fear in weaker constituted minds) and having a direct love of being in control. He also took pleasure in punishing those who broke the rules, so long as the rules and laws (so to speak) that he laid down were followed, then inmate and employee alike were just fine and could do as they pleased within obvious reason. Should they break the rules, his law, then there would be hell to pay as he held no proverbial punches when it came to striking down a potential anarchist in the midst. He knew full well when he took the job, that there would be those who did so but he managed well enough with his gentler policy of leniency on those who behaved, his punishments reserved for those who strayed. He made sure his guards knew damn well that any abuse of a prisoner, especially (mostly just) those that behaved themselves, was a quick way to get on his bad side, and you never want to be on the Warden's bad side.<br/><br/>He straightened his suit, (http://www.omiru.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/jcrew-year-round-suiting-vest_080108.jpg) making sure to check for any stains and even out any wrinkles, something that was sheer habit for him. Within the confines of being alone, or at ease around certain employees such as Jackson, he was a bit more relaxed, rolling up his sleeves, removing his jacket and perhaps the tie. Now though he had business to take care of, as was par for the course. He wasn't quite sure if other Warden's made frequent trips to see new inmates as much as he did, but he liked to see them, to mark in his own mind those that stood out, those that he knew should be watched, monitored a bit more closely than others. There was also an aspect of them seeing him, as their Warden that held a strange and inexplicable appeal to him that he wouldn't be able to articulate even within his own mind to himself.<br/><br/>He grabbed his jacket, (http://www.suitsmen.co.uk/suit-images/full-size/douglas-novonic-suit-jacket-1.jpg) swinging it around and easing it over his shoulder, buttoning it up and straightening himself up one last time to be sure and set off.<br/><br/>It was only moments later that he found himself waiting, Jackson and the other guards nearby, he turned his head and looked over the list and information he held in his hand, "I see that, and a few names I even recognize, imagine that."<br/><br/>He made a mental note to keep an eye on Taylor King, more of the guards around him than anything else. He fell no strong rage or prejudice against the man for the nature of his victim, a killer was a killer, no matter who they had killed. Though he knew full well that cop killers were not treated as such, and he had the feeling that he would have to remind his own that treating a prisoner as any less than they were was not going to happen in his prison. Out of hand, rule breaking problem inmates needed reminding, but if there was no problem, you let them do their time, let them rot in their own misery and have the 'luxury' of dealing with one another instead. There would be no accidental deaths caused by overly rough treatments of his guards in his prison, that was not how things were done.<br/><br/>His blue eyes pierced like a shard of ice through the noise and heat outside, trailing along the line of windows on the bus and the moving figures, including the staggered figure of a one Taylor King whom he recognized from the news coverage, he addressed Jackson, "Jackson, do make sure to remind the men how we treat every inmate here, no matter our personal prejudice on their crime. I don't want an incident."<br/><br/>His voice was even, controlled, a rumbling that shook from within his chest, carrying a direct and commanding aura that seemed inherent, unforced and intuitive. It just plain fit him, all the way down to his face, his eyes and the way he held himself. With that done he resumed watching, making note of ever prisoner to step down into the light.