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SCL Chapter 41: I Ordered a Beauty, Got a Brute
🕑 Added 2025-04-16 21:07:04 +0000 UTCTychus was tired of exchanging empty threats with some backwater punk. When things reached a point where fists were the only language left, he made damn sure the other guy learned whose punches hurt more.
There was a raging lion coiled in the heart of just-released Tychus Findlay, and—
“Put him down, you lunatic.”
Just as Tychus was about to hoist Raynor over his head and hurl him like a sack of trash toward the storage racks behind the counter, a cold gun barrel pressed against his temple. In his ear came a sharp, taunting male voice—exactly the kind of voice he’d heard from punks and gangsters in some backwater colony towns: cocky, flippant, and convinced it sounded cool.
“One... two—”
But the faint click of a safety being released made Tychus drop the scorn in his voice. He immediately let go of Raynor, pressing him back into the chair like a ragdoll gently returned to its basket. Raynor, after straightening his collar, leaned back and silently watched Tychus.
“Hands in the air. Squat against the wall,” the voice continued.
Tychus turned around and saw a young soldier aiming a shotgun directly at him. The soldier had a messy mop of red hair, freckles sprinkled across his nose, and a nearly burnt-out cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Didn’t you hear me?” the redhead spat the cigarette onto the floor and crushed it with his boot. “Hands up, back to me. I don’t want to see your face.”
Tychus stared calmly at the soldier, not the least bit shaken. He was certain the kid didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. “You’d better lower that gun. Only then can we settle this properly. Before the military police show up, that’d be better for both of us.”
“What’s going on here, Harnack?” came another voice echoing across the empty supply depot. Tychus turned instinctively toward it and saw a sergeant in a crisp brown uniform approaching with three other soldiers in the same dusty attire.
Among the three, one was lazily chewing gum and blowing bubbles, hands stuffed into his pockets, walking in the oddest gait imaginable—clearly Josephine.
Another, Lee Dong-nyoung, had a clipboard and pen in hand, jotting down notes as he walked.
To the sergeant’s right strode Amy Brandon, cradling an E-7 Gauss rifle.
All of them wore flat-topped caps bearing the emblem of a wolf’s head. Their uniforms were covered in dust—they’d been moving supplies at the far end of the warehouse. Tychus hadn’t noticed them earlier because all his attention had been on Raynor.
The leading sergeant was a handsome man with cold gray eyes. His once-pressed uniform was now wrinkled and grimy from heavy labor, a smear of black grease on his face. But the rifle insignia on his shoulder—marking him as combat troops—made it clear he was no rear-echelon rookie.
The sergeant stopped just a step away from Tychus and Harnack. He turned to Tychus.
“Well? What the hell is all this?”
“Sergeant, this man—”
There was only one thing that could make Tychus drop the brute act: the sergeant’s rank badge on his chest. One of the golden rules for a marine was simple—always show respect to anyone with more stripes or anything shinier on their shoulders. That petty desk officer back in the dispatch hall? Not worth listening to. But this guy...
“I didn’t ask you,” the sergeant cut him off calmly. “Let me remind you—anyone who comes into my space and stirs up trouble doesn’t get to see my friendly side. If my team confirms you’re here to make problems, I’ll hand you over to the MPs.”
“Even if you lick my boots ten thousand times, that decision won’t change.”
Tychus immediately understood—this man might be young, but he was clearly the kind who meant every word he said.
“Boss, this guy grabbed Jim and looked ready to beat him senseless. Good thing I stepped in, or the kid would’ve ended up pants-down with his ass whipped,” Harnack said with a laugh.
“Hey, I was about to knock him flat myself. You’re the one who jumped in uninvited,” Raynor grinned.
“You see?” Augustus turned toward Tychus, palms up.
“I’d say... there’s nothing more to talk about.”
"Harnack, Amy, take this guy to the Military Police Department," Augustus waved his hand, and the soldiers behind him, holding Gauss rifles, immediately stepped forward.
Augustus had recognized the infamous Tychus Findlay but had no interest in getting involved with him. If possible, he preferred him to get as far away as possible.
Someone like Tychus Findlay—selfish to the core—had only one real friend in his life: Jim Raynor. A man like him was never meant to make sacrifices for others.
“I believe this is just a trivial misunderstanding, sir.” Tychus’s voice was always deep and commanding. “Just now, I was only trying to help him straighten his tie. Maybe I wasn’t exactly polite about it, but surely making him a little uncomfortable isn’t worth sending me to the MPs for a cup of coffee, is it?”
“Amy, fix bayonet,” Augustus said.
While Tychus continued bickering with Augustus, Raynor had already turned his attention back to the computer screen in front of him. Normally, Raynor couldn’t care less about checking the identities of people picking up supplies, but today, he had to take a look. After what had just happened, this grudge was set in stone. Raynor had no intention of retaliating against Tychus, but he did need to be wary in case the man bore a grudge.
The next second, Raynor’s eyes widened.
“Augustus, which company is the garrison company?”
“There’s only one company left in this fortress—ours. What do you think the garrison company is?” Augustus said, one hand on his waist, glancing over at Raynor.
Originally, Fort Howe had housed not just the Fifth Battalion but also the 2nd Marine Regiment’s 3rd Battalion and the 33rd Ground Assault Division’s three battalions of the 4th Brigade, all based on Turaxis II. But last week, the Kel-Morian forces suddenly launched attacks on several cities near the fortress. All troops in the fort were dispatched to support the defense, leaving only the Warfield Company behind, which had suffered heavy casualties and was undergoing reorganization.
“Holy shit, this bastard is the convict assigned to our squad,” Raynor cursed.
“No way, are you serious?” Harnack exclaimed. He jabbed Tychus with his shotgun, prompting a glare from the latter. “Why the hell are we taking in a convict from a labor camp? I told that Warfield guy we wanted a smart beauty with a perky ass.”
“Augustus never said anything like that,” Amy said, lowering his rifle and shaking his head in exasperation.
“Well, whatever—aside from being a dude, he’s not all that bad,” Harnack shrugged.
“So, you’re the squad I’m being assigned to?” But Tychus quickly brushed off Harnack’s petty provocation. He was unlucky—but lucky enough too. At least this meant he wouldn’t be shipped off to the MPs.
“Like I said, this was just a small misunderstanding. That dark-haired kid and I had a bit of a scuffle. In the Marines, this kind of thing is nothing. There’s nothing a cigar and some No. 8 whiskey can’t fix.”
“Jim, I still don’t know this bastard’s name,” Augustus muttered, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then he took off his cap, pushed Harnack aside, and stepped up to Tychus.
Tychus was just over a centimeter taller than Augustus, but he quickly realized that this gave him absolutely no advantage.
Augustus stood ramrod straight in front of the towering man, and there couldn’t have been more than a few centimeters between them. Those cold, steely gray eyes stared him down—stern, commanding, and ready to strike. It reminded Tychus of the gliding giant eagles that once circled the sky over his hometown.
“His name is Tychus Findlay,” Raynor said.
“Mr. Findlay, we’ll leave it at that. As the squad leader, I expect you to make peace with Jim,” Augustus said, locking eyes with Tychus.
“But don’t mistake me for someone generous. I know what you are—a scumbag through and through. Self-serving garbage with no honor, no sense of camaraderie. You’re only here to make money. What you care about most in this world might just be the number in your bank account,” he said.
“I’m not going to let one rotten apple spoil the whole barrel. Whether I can see you or not, you’d better learn to keep your head down. Otherwise, I’ll have you kicked out. Understood?”
“Understood,” Tychus replied.
