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</div></span><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"> Chains rattled as they dangled from large, formidably muscular limbs that were heavily tattooed. He had a shock collar on, wrist and ankle cuffs and a long metallic chain connect both his hands, feet, and neck. Each point capable of delivering a heavy 28 million volts--and even then it was barely enough at times. Especially when he adrenaline spiked. He was a force to be reckoned with. One that didn't intend to take bullshit or the abuse of his mates.<br/>
<br/>
The bearded man stood nearly a staggering seven feet tall--when it was all said and done, reputations were thrown out the window when reality came to slap you in the face like the bitch it was. He didn't care about having a 'good' reputation. Their job was a bit more important than what someone might have thought of him, and for the time being everyone seemed to have a festering opinion of him. From the top brass to the women he'd been assigned to try and bond and mate with--most of which either didn't do their jobs and compromised the mission--or did them poorly.<br/>
<br/>
He wasn't an alpha to sit on his ass. He was an alpha because he got shit done. A lot of males would be happy to go through and fuck and breed with the women assigned to them. They felt fortunate. He did not. He <i>wanted </i>an <b>alpha</b>; not some damn woman too enamored with his physique that she'd fail to do her part of the mission. He wanted someone capable in her own right, who busted her ass and didn't take shit from anyone. Not even General Dickhead Pickering who saw to it that most of the others were brainwashed into believing he was some role-model or father figure type. That crap never got off the ground with Acheron.<br/>
<br/>
When interrogated as to why he let vital information be destroyed in the event that his mate had been captured and he made the choice to rescue her rather than save the information on Reptilian DNA sequencing. He was asked a rather pointless, and stupid question by the General as to rather he genuinely hated the man or not. His response was priceless. He told the general not to worry too much, that he hated most men with no balls between their legs that hid behind a button. He was shocked, of course, but the last laugh was on the General as he grabbed the man's groin and shared the high voltage creeping through his powerfully built frame.<br/>
<br/>
From then on the General would stand several feet away at all times.<br/>
<br/>
Acheron entered the hanger; he looked like a common prisoner; he was in a bright orange jumpsuit-except the top had been ripped and torn apart exposing his hardened musculature. He didn't have true peak human strength, but a variant; he could use 100% of his musculature. 100% muscle usage is different from peak human strength in that it has little relation to actual muscle mass. While having denser muscle mass does increase one's overall strength, someone of average physical strength who uses 100% of their muscular capability may be capable of overpowering someone with peak human strength.<br/>
<br/>
He stopped shortly before Artemis, his body both tall and broad in comparison to her lissome frame. The guards, six in total removed the restraints and shackles. He was the only hybrid not allowed to do anything he wanted. Did he want to train? Had to have an escort. Wanted to work on cars? Escort. About the only things he was allowed to do freely was to eat, sleep, and fuck. Of course, if he was with his mate which he presumed was this tiny thing he was allowed more freedoms. Bonded pairs weren't so temperamental and loose canons of which Acheron was a poster child for.</span></span><br/><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000"><br/>
"What's your designation?" Acheron gruffly asked the redhead. </span></span>