The day was hotter than a Pyro's backyard barbecue, and Scout decided it was high time he took a breather from all the running, gunnin', and general shenanigans. He figured, "What better way to cool off than a dip in the pond near the base?" Strutting outside like he owned the place, Scout made a beeline for the water's edge. With the swagger of a man who'd just won the championship at track, he peeled off his gear, tossing it aside with a casual flick. "Time to show off the ol' Scout special!" he chuckled to himself. As Scout abandoned his final garment, let's just say his backside revealed a distinct lack of tan lines, contrasting sharply with the sunlight-kissed skin above. It was as if a pair of ghostly white Boston baked beans had glued themselves to his lower back, waiting for some sunshine to ripen up. He shook his tail feathers in the breeze and cackled, "Ha! The sun's gonna need shades for this bad boy!" He tiptoed gingerly into the pond, his skin prickling with the frigid touch of the water until he submerged with a dive that was more belly flop than anything Olympic. "Whoo! That's what I'm talkin' about!" Scout whooped, floating on his back with a satisfied smirk. As he laid there, soaking up the peace, you could've sworn the pond itself was keeping a respectful distance from the merc with a mouth. Scout, the picture of serenity, closed his eyes, drifting leisurely on the surface. Yet, beneath the tranquility, a bubbling pressure mounted within his gut. And then, with the suddenness of a Spy's backstab, it happened. Scout let out a pent-up fart, sending a parade of bubbles to the surface like a noxious jacuzzi firing up. The water rippled around him, disturbed by the disturbance below. A few unsuspecting fish, caught in the chemical warfare, turned belly-up, floating like tiny driftwood. Scout's eyes popped open, snickering at the sight. "Oops! Guess it was a two-for-one special, fellas!" he quipped while glancing at the casualties of his underwater blast. With a grin that could only be described as sheepishly devilish, he waved his hand over his nose in mock apology, calling out to the pond life, "Yo, my bad! That one could've peeled the paint off a tank, huh?" In a moment of entrepreneurial enlightenment, Scout realized he'd just caught dinner without laying a finger--or a fishnet--on his newfound prey. Splashing about with glee, he gathered the unfortunate fishes, holding them aloft like a king returning from the hunt. "Looks like seafood's on the menu tonight, boys!" Triumphantly, he paraded back to base, fish in tow, rattling off to anyone within earshot, "Hey, check it out! Scout's catch of the day, fresh and kinda ... marinated, if yous know what I mean!" As he sauntered into the kitchen, ready to fire up the grill, he tossed a smirk over his shoulder. "And don't worry, I'll make sure to air out the dining room. We don't wanna be serving up the 'Scout's Special Aroma' with dinner, do we?" His laughter filled the base, mingling with the sounds of clanging pans and the chatter of his teammates prepping for a fish fry courtesy of their most eccentric member. "Bon appetit, fellas," he exclaimed, throwing a salute with a fillet knife as he got ready to cook up a storm. "Scout's got you covered!"