It was a scorching hot day at the RED base, and the Scout, being the fast-talking, quick-thinking Boston boy he was, decided he needed a break from all the hustle and the sound of gunfire. With the sun mercilessly beating down, he headed for the lockers, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Awright," he announced to nobody in particular, "Time to cool off these burnin' buns, baby!" He tossed his clothes into his locker with the carefree abandon only a Scout could muster. In the buff, his physique was a comical blend of both wiry strength and youthful vigor. Indeed, his derriere was unremarkable in its lack of muscular distinction--less a testament to the fine art of glute sculpting and more a trusty, well-used seat for between-round rests. "Feast your eyes, then get 'em checked, 'cause you'll never see a better badonkadonk!" he bragged with a cheeky grin, sauntering past the Heavy, who simply raised an eyebrow in amused disbelief. As Scout strutted his stuff out to the pond, his skin gleamed in the sun like a freshly-polished bonk helmet. He was a surreal, pale streak of nature, much to the disguised horror of Spy, who was trying to keep a low profile in the shadows with a cigarette and a raised paper. "Ah, nature," Scout remarked with reverence that felt oddly out of character, "You and me gonna get real acquainted!" He circled the pond before finding the perfect entry point, paused to stretch his legs in an exaggerated fashion, and then with a couple of running steps, leaped gracefully into the air, curling into a cannonball. "GERONIMO!" he hollered, as he made a splash that sent droplets flying and alarmed the Sniper on lookout, spyglass in hand. In the water, Scout's smile widened into a goofy grin as he let out an audible sigh of relief. His face, a picture of calm satisfaction, quickly transformed as he succumbed to the natural consequences of relaxation--a pent-up fart escaped into the tranquil pond, causing bubbles to surface with a comedic "blub-blub" sound. "Ahhh, nothing like lettin' loose in the great outdoors," he sighed contentedly. To his side, a few unfortunate fish gave a distressed wriggle before flipping belly-up, apparently victims to the Scout's aromatic assault. Scout, unfazed, nonchalantly remarked, "Looks like my backend's got more firepower than the Soldier's RPG!" Laughing at his own joke, Scout waded through the water and scooped up the stunned fish. He hauled himself onto the bank, shook off like a dog, and then started to gather sticks and logs. "Let's make this a real good cookout," he said to himself, getting a fire started with surprising efficiency. "I'll show those Frenchy cooks how you charbroil in Boston." In no time at all, a campfire was crackling, and the scent of grilled fish began to waft through the air. "Ha! Look at me, I'm like a regular wilderness guy. Bear Grylls, eat your heart out," Scout bragged, tending to his catch, perfectly searing the fish over the flames. Just as he was about to chow down on the fish, his teammates gathered, curious and drawn by the smell of food. Sharing the bounty with a touch of pride, Scout couldn't help but boast. "You see this here?" he said, holding up a perfectly cooked fish. "This is the catch of the day! Caught it with my, uh... natural charm." As the team dug in, compliments and back slaps went around, and for once, the Scout didn't need to run. He simply sat back, admired the pond, and enjoyed a moment of peace with his team, occasionally tossing a bone into the fire and grinning wide. "Ain't nothin' like the simple things, huh, boys?" the Scout said, leaning back on his elbows. "Sun 'n' swim, fish 'n' fire. What could be bettah?"