Scout had worked up quite an appetite dashing and double-jumping around the battlefield. And today, his belly was demanding something a little different. "Ah, what I wouldn't give for a nice fish dinner tonight," he mused aloud, rubbing his growling stomach as he looked around for inspiration. That's when his eyes landed on the serene little pond just a stone's throw away from the base. An idea as wild as his batting average started to take shape in his lightning-fast brain. "Hey, why not?" he chuckled to himself. "Scouty-boy's about to get himself some gourmet seafood, fresh from the water!" Scout grabbed a big wicker basket from the supply room, sprinted on his chicken legs over to the pond, and grinned at his ripe reflection. "Time to show them fancy fisherman how it's really done," he said, cracking his knuckles. With a grand flourish, Scout proceeded to strip down to his skivvies, tossing his clothes into a pile, showing off his muscles and tattoos. "They don't call it the 'Gun Show' for nothin', heh!" Stepping into the pond with a dramatic splash, he waded through the muck, feeling the slimy weeds between his toes. "Ugh, feels like Spy's cooking," he grumped. Now in position, he winked at a nearby frog, which seemed to eye him with wary anticipation. "You might wanna cover your nostrils, lil' guy. It's about to get aromatic up in here!" Scout took a deep breath, gave a mischievous smirk, and let rip a series of the most heinous butt-trumpets the pond had ever beheld. Bubbles erupted from the depths around him, as his signature bean-induced melodies played their stinking symphony beneath the water's surface. The pond roiled and churned as some of the fish went belly-up, rendered unconscious by Scout's potent natural weapon. "Aw, look at that! Poor things just can't handle the sweet scent of Boston baked beans," Scout laughed, feigning regret as he clasped his chest and mockingly swooned back and forth. "I'm wicked sorry, you guys! Not really." His face twisted into a beaming, prideful grin as he admired his work. One after another, he scooped up the stunned fish, piling them into his basket, their scales glimmering in the late afternoon sun. "Heh, betcha Soldier couldn't even catch a cold as good as I'm pullin' in these swimmers. This is gonna be the catch of the century, I'm tellin' ya!" With his basket brimming with fish, the Scout made his victorious, if slightly stinky, trek back to the base. "Oh man, I can't wait to show the fellas! They're gonna love this," he chuckled, envisioning the green faces they'd make when he told them his fishing technique. Settling in the kitchen, Scout wasted no time preparing his feast. "Alright, let's see what kind of magic Scout can cook up with these bad boys," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt and grabbing a frying pan. As he rustled up dinner, he couldn't help but sing to himself, his own silly version of some hip tune: "Scout's fishy dinner, it's gonna be a winner! Caught 'em with a poot, ain't I just a hoot?" He flipped a fish with a flair, catching it back in the pan. As the mouthwatering aroma began to fill the base, one by one, his teammates cautiously trickled in, drawn by curiosity and hunger. "What's all this?" Engineer asked, eying the meal, his wrench still in hand. Scout grinned, dishing out servings onto plates. "The freshest fish you'll ever eat, caught by yours truly. And lemme tell ya, you ain't gotta worry about Spy snakin' any of this--my secret recipe guarantees it!" He winked, leaving them puzzled, but soon enough the hearty laughter and the clinking of forks against plates proved that, in the end, Scout's unorthodox fishing method was a resounding, if somewhat suspect, success.