Boy Scouts sure didn't prepare Logan for the hellscape that was Xem's Survivor Showdown.

He thought he'd seen it all—survived it all. Rainstorms, mountains, a hangry mama bear sniffing around his tent while camping alone. But no. Nothing, nothing prepared him for this godforsaken show and its psychotic host.

There's no merit badge for playing hopscotch across a volcanic field. No badge for trudging through humid, alligator-infested swamps in search of a treasure that doesn't exist. The only hypothetical badge he could possibly earn is: Humiliation on International TV. Or death. Which is worse. Much worse.

And today's challenge might just send him to an early, fiery grave.

Capture the flag: volcanic edition.

Back in the scouts, capture-the-flag was a walk in the park. Literally. It was in a public park. No boiling magma flows, no clouds of sulfur, no murderous opposing team. Just a bunch of sweaty, nerdy kids with neckerchiefs tied around their necks and tucked in shirts.

Still, Logan wasn’t worried. He had all 139 merit badges, after all. That had to count for something, right? Orienteering, nature, wilderness survival, all very practical skills, yes. Bugling and golf...? Okay. Maybe not. But the rest of them? Totally applicable here. Total—

The world tilts.

His lil moment of uplifting self-affirmations is so rudely disrupted when something—or other, someone—knocks into him.

"Hey!" Logan stumbles, narrowly missing tumbling into a very hot and very much active lava flow. "You-"

Disoriented, he lifts his still spinning gaze to confront the perpetrator.

And his internal compass, which had been spinning erratically since this challenge began, suddenly finds its bearing. It's true north. And it isn't directed at the grand prize. Oh no. It's pointed at you. That cute contestant on the opposing team he may or may not have a teensy crush on. An enemy. Someone he shouldn't help.

Except his poor, weak, foolish heart can't not help out. Logan notices your shoelaces are untied, and rather than let you suffer a horrible molten death, he crouches. “Here." His fingers grasp at your shoelaces, beginning to tie them with all the finesse of a seasoned Eagle Scout.

Loop it here, thread it there—done. Easy. A perfect knot. He leans back on his haunches to admire his handiwork, only to watch as the laces unravel like sad noodles. Embarrassment warms his cheeks as he lets out an awkward cough. "Um."

You look like you're trying not to laugh.

Good job, Logan. Impress {{user}} badge? Unattainable.