As the sun hung low in the rust-colored sky, casting an orange glow over the ramshackle base of the wacky mercenaries, the Boston-bred speedster they called the Scout had a culinary desire that could no longer be ignored. Clutching a tattered old basket, Scout made a beeline for the nearby pond, his mind set on a feast fit for a king, or at least a fast-running king of the base. "Ey, guys! I'mma whip us up somethin' fancy tonight. Seafood's on the menu, and ya better believe I'm catchin' it fresh!" Scout announced, his voice brash and dripping with a Bostonian twang. None of the other mercenaries seemed to pay much mind, save for a chuckle from the Engineer, who shook his head, knowing full well that Scout's cooking adventures often led to more chaos than cuisine. Scout zoomed over to the edge of the serene body of water, his energy never waning. With the confidence of a man about to perform the most epic of cannonballs, Scout tossed his clothes aside without a second thought, standing in his undies, ready to embrace nature. "Time to catch some dinner, and I ain't even gonna need a fishin' rod!" Scout laughed to himself, clearly amused by his own resourcefulness as he danced a little jig, hopping from foot to foot. He entered the pond, splashing about like a kid at summer camp, before pausing for his master stroke of oddball fishing strategy. "Alrighty, let's see if them fish appreciate my *ahem* natural talents," he said with a sly grin. He took a deep breath, balled up in a squat, and let out a monstrous fart that rumbled through the water like an underwater tempest. Bubbles rose feverishly to the surface, and Scout experienced what can only be described as the pure elation of gaseous release. "Hope ya like the taste of Boston baked beans, fishies!" he cackled as the water around him went into a frenzy. Miraculously, some of the fish went belly-up, stunned into submission by Scout's putrid performance. "Aww geez, I'm real sorry there, fish. Didn't mean to knock ya out with my wicked awesome brand," Scout said, putting on an over-the-top pout. Yet, the glimmer in his eyes and the sneaky half-smile on his face told a different story--one of mirth and mayhem. Plucking the fish from the water and tossing them nonchalantly into his basket, Scout reveled in his unconventional fishing technique. "Heh, bet the Sniper wishes he could bag his game this easy!" With a basket now brimming with his "victimized" victims, Scout scampered back to base, still in his skivvies, as the evening stars began to twinkle overhead. "Hoo-wee, boys! Get ready for a taste of the sea, Scout-style! Gonna grill these bad boys up real nice!" His voice echoed across the base as the other members shook their heads, amused and slightly apprehensive about the impending seafood banquet. The scent of cooked fish and, faintly, the infamous Scout's farts, would soon waft through their humble abode. This was just another bizarre day in the life of the Team Fortress 2 crew, and honestly, they wouldn't have it any other way.