Westwood Ranch was situated right on the edge of Corpus Christi, a modest ranch with a span of a thousand acres, all green with scattered trees, a fair-sized pasture, and a big, beautiful farm house with an equally big and beautiful barn and stable. Betty Westwood ran the ranch, a fierce and strong single mother to Scott, alongside her older brother, and Scott’s uncle, Hunter Westwood. Their next door neighbor - King Ranch. King Ranch was one of the largest ranches in the world, sitting pretty on 185,000 acres. For the most part, it looked as if neither ranches bothered the other, not even to offer help or possibly trade. That didn’t mean it was all sunshine and happiness on Westwood Ranch, however. Naturally, Scott grew up in the thick of the ranch, and was home-schooled from the get-go. Once he was old enough to handle chores and responsibility, Uncle Hunter would have him up at the ass crack of dawn tending to the ranch, till everything was done no matter what time it was. The only breaks he would get were to do homework and eat. Betty and Uncle Hunter told him it was how they grew up, and so Scott would grow up the same.

For a while, everything was normal. Betty was his teacher, and the only thing he was above in was reading, he gained his mother’s hard-working trait, and Uncle Hunter was not only teaching him the way of ranch life, but also letting him try his hand at shooting their rifle and pistol and showing him how to track, to watch out for any coyotes or other predators roaming too close. Uncle Hunter had playfully nudged him while showing him how to track and said, “and maybe for one day when you gotta hunt down a person like a secret spy.” the idea sounded appealing to a young, hyperactive boy. Betty helped with the ranch when she found the time, but she also worked somewhere in the city, as far as Scott knew, some desk job. She hated the job but it paid well, and the ranch could use all the money it could get it. Little Scott didn’t know of the financial woes the ranch was experiencing and was happy to just work hard like his father figure and mother, and to be with the animals. It went unnoticed for some time but both Betty and Hunter began to notice the almost eerie connection Scott had with all the animals on the farm. Primarily they noticed how the animals reacted to him, and he them. For Hunter and Betty, the chickens fled, but for Scott, they stayed near and even let the young boy gently pat their heads or backs. For Hunter and Betty, the cows shifted away when being milked, and sometimes put up a fuss. But if Scott was near, the cows would be calm, and were always pushing their noses against Scott in something that could be considered a playful fashion. For Hunter and Betty, the horses were good, tamed, but sometimes, a couple would bite and refuse to be brushed down. But, again, for Scott, all five of their horses were the most tamed, sweet things in the world, and would always dip their heads so young Scott could pat at them.

It didn’t cause any problems, actually it helped a lot, so they didn’t address it. When Scott would sometimes mimic an animal noise, they didn’t address it, since Scott spent so much time around them to begin with and he was a kid. What did cause problems was whenever they would sell livestock for much needed money, one or two cows here, maybe a pig there, and Scott would cry for hours over the loss. But at the age of nine, things got weirder, because he began to very frequently address the animals in what seemed like their own tongue, and the animals would seemingly reply. It was like he was having a conversation with them and Betty was watching this development from afar.

One night when he had barked at his childhood dog and the dog jumped up and down and barked back, Betty had finally asked her son if he could talk to animals. Joking or no, Scott beamed and said he could, that they were his friends, and the chickens wanted a bigger coop. Betty had simply hummed in acknowledgement and thought. She told Hunter about it, who simply shrugged and said “kids will be kids; he probably wants the coop to be bigger ‘cause he’s havin’ problems squeezin’ his growin’ ass in there with the damn birds.” At age 11, was when Scott’s world was officially tipped upside down. He had been playing with his childhood dog, who had already been middle-aged when he was a baby, so was moving a lot slower and sluggish these days, when he was in sudden agonizing pain, his body feeling like it was on fire. He had been far away from the house, having been playing with his Sheltie inside the large expanse of the pasture, and so by the time he was found since he had been screaming, what Betty and Hunter found was not only Scott’s Sheltie, but another Sheltie there, but more youthful. Betty and Hunter were in amazement when the strange, young Sheltie began to whimper and twitch, body curling in on itself. All Betty and Hunter could do was watch as fur gave away to skin, muzzle reared back into a nose and mouth, ears sunk down and hair formed, and then they were looking at a shaking and crying Scott laying on the ground.

Betty and Hunter easily accepted him and tried to help him come to terms with his new ability. Uncle Hunter was the most helpful, always ruffling Scott’s hair while he was still recovering from the shock and taking a break of doing work on the ranch, and saying something like, “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll do somethin’ really cool with this ability, Scotty!” it gave Scott hope that maybe he would do something good with this ability one day. Betty had to keep working, but each time she came home, she shot off questions at Scott, asking if he shifted again, how he felt, how it felt. These questions were becoming common practice and one night, Scott had heard Uncle Hunter angrily whispering at Betty to “back off, this is hard ‘nough. He’s just a kid, Betty, ‘member?!” Betty had made a slight noise of acknowledgement and of course, Scott didn’t ask what that was all about. When Scott got back to working about a week later, his second shift happened in the stables. He had just gotten out there, rays of sun barely stretching along the dark sky, Uncle Hunter tending to the chicken coop, and reached out to touch one of the horses. The same thing happened as did with his Sheltie; horrible, unbearable pain then he was a horse, and that was how he was found once again. When he had shifted back, tattered clothes around him and shaking and crying, Betty had hugged him and said, “don’t worry, you’re gonna be so strong one day and be able to handle it, ‘kay?” Scott wasn’t sure he wanted to keep this up, but Uncle Hunter kept feeding him words of encouragement, telling him he was special and he was going to go to good places because of his “gift.” His mother, on the other hand, was more bent on asking questions about it, and even asked if he wanted to test a theory out. Scott was a naturally curious person and so he agreed.

Betty must of ran the idea by Uncle Hunter, because Scott overheard them fighting while he was tucked up in the corner of their big comfy couch with his nose in a book. His pet parakeet at the time, sadly she passed away later on and Scott had cried plenty, had even gotten quiet when the heated words drifted into the living room. Uncle Hunter didn’t want Scott pushing himself, or doing things he didn’t want too. Betty claimed Scott knew his limits and would tell them. After more heated words that were hushed so Scott couldn’t make them out, Betty had asked Scott to come outside, and so he followed his mother and father figure out. Uncle Hunter had been tense and unhappy-looking, while Betty had been all smiles and bright eyes, excitement. Betty had asked Scott to try and think of an animal that wasn’t on the farm. And to try to shift into it. Scott hadn’t been sure he wanted to go through the pain, and he voiced his concern. But Betty had shushed him and said he’d get used to it, while Uncle Hunter had stepped up and said Scott didn’t have too. But, Scott had wanted to try for his mother, and so he totally tried a T-rex and the most that had given him was a headache from thinking so damn hard. Betty had mm’d when he said he couldn’t shift into the dinosaur and took his little hand, bringing him to the chicken coop. Betty had gotten Scott to touch a chicken and it happened, his third shift. Just as painful as the first two, and after he shifted back from a chicken, he was again a shaking and sobbing mess from the shock. Betty had hugged him tight and said her theory panned out. If he touched an animal with his bare hand, he became that animal. It led him to having to wear gloves around the farm. Uncle Hunter had been the one who whisked Scott inside and wrapped him up in blankets and gave him hot tea. Uncle Hunter had smoothed Scott’s bangs back from his sweaty forehead and told him, “If you don’t want to use your powers anymore, you ain’t gotta, you understand? No matter what mom says.” Scott had nodded, rejected his tea, and proceeded to sleep for many hours.

He hadn’t stopped using his power. Uncle Hunter had been a support beam for him during it all, during him adjusting to the power, learning about it, discovering new things. He had still helped Scott do normal kid things during it all, played games with him, helped him write weird short stories, watched stupid cartoons with him. Betty, well, every time she had came from work, she had new questions, new theories. But then after getting all the answers from Scott, she’d kiss his forehead and tell him he was so special and wonderful, and he was going to do great and amazing things one day. Scott had loved both his Uncle and mother equally, and he had been glad they both believed in him. By the age of fourteen, the shifts to all the ranch animals were still painful, but to the point he could handle it, and he had been often shifting and unshifting, getting practice in. But even with the ability, Uncle Hunter had encouraged finding hobbies; Uncle Hunter had kept training him with the guns and in tracking. At fifteen, Uncle Hunter had given him an acoustic guitar, telling him with a grin “women love a country boy who can play guitar.” Scott hadn’t really met anyone else but Uncle Hunter and his mom. They sometimes brought him out but that was it. So far, how he knew anything about kids his age had been from the TV and books. But, he had still learned the guitar, enjoying it more than he had expected, and with that came him writing songs. Scott had been as happy as a boy with strange powers and no friends his age could be. The only really bad thing that had happened during the year he was fifteen had been when his childhood dog passed away. He had cried for days and with that overwhelming emotion, it hadn’t been uncommon to find him in his Sheltie form, laying in his late dog’s doggie bed and whimpering.

Even with the animals, a lot of them being his friends, and his Uncle and mother, he had still felt lonely. He had wanted human interaction with people his age. He had seen it from afar, when he went to the city with Uncle Hunter to get supplies or eat out for once, or his mother would take him to the store for grocery shopping. He had seen it on TV, or read it in books. He had wanted friendships with people but when he brought it up to Betty, she had simply said because of his power, it wasn’t safe for him to be around other people but them. He had asked Uncle Hunter if he could start going to public school, whining in the back of his throat and begging with big, tearful eyes, and Uncle Hunter had grabbed his shoulder and, with a sad smile, said, “Maybe next year, bud, ‘kay?” Next year came and he got the same answer, Uncle Hunter looking even more pained to say it. At this point, Scott was sixteen, growing into his own, and he hadn’t been one to keep his mouth shut or hold back. So, he had demanded why, why couldn’t he make his own choice to start attending high school and meet new people? Uncle Hunter hadn’t answered for a long time, going back to grooming down the horse Scott could shift into, a beautiful quarter horse, before sighing and finally answering him. Scott hadn’t liked the answer. Uncle Hunter simply said, “I really do believe you can be someone later but you… you aren’t ready to be around others. You can’t control your power well ‘nough. What happens if a girl comes up to ya and smiles? Or a cute boy?” he had shot Scott a look and said, “I see the way ya drool over that one dark-haired fella from that weird train movie with all the snow, I ain’t blind and I ain’t bothered. But what, you gonna shift into that mangy stray cat you keep feedin’ scraps too?” Scott hadn’t said anything, instead turning on his heel and stomping off with a huff that sounded more like a horse whinny but he wouldn’t admit to it.

He hadn’t wanted to accept his fate but… he also wasn’t going to go behind Uncle Hunter’s or Betty’s back. Because Scott wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t the smartest person around but he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He had understood their concerns, and he had also understood that people wouldn’t take well to his power like they would. He’d accept it but he didn’t have to like it. Time kept going, and it was the same old, same old. Help on the ranch, walk the acres of the ranch and try to convince strange animals to let him touch them (almost always, he was basically told to fuck off, but some were nice), screw with his animals for his own laughs (his laugh had been cut off the one time he was messing with Moo Moo, his favorite (don’t tell the others) cow; he couldn’t even remember what he had said and did, but he had been sitting on a stool beside her, and so he had a bruise in the shape of her hoof on his side, right below his ribs, for about two weeks. There were also other times the animals spited him but that was part of the fun), practice shooting, play some songs for Betty and Uncle Hunter (they claimed he could sing, but he didn’t hear it), read, read, read, ride the couple horses that enjoyed it to keep them happy, write songs and short stories for his own amusement, aaaaand repeat. Life was simple and maybe he could like it, if he hadn’t felt like he was missing out on something from his lack of a social circle.

Twenty had been the age things flipped upside down. He’d rather experience his first shifting three times over and then some than the pain of that whole year. Betty died. She had worked a desk job at a law firm. Supposedly, one of the lawyers lost a case, the person was very angry, and shot the place up, killing his mother. Scott couldn’t believe it when Uncle Hunter told him. He had felt like he was in a haze. No Betty to come home and pester him over his ability, ask him a million questions, then hug him and kiss his temple and tell him how special and important he was. No Betty to push him to use his ability, to fine tune it, to perfect it because she had told him that was important, it was important he discovered his true potential, that she wanted him to feel good about himself. No Betty to roll her brown eyes (eyes so unlike his own but the one time he had asked after his father, Betty had up and left the room without a word, and Uncle Hunter had said it was a “sensitive subject, sorry, bud.”), and shove a TV dinner in his arms with a rose eyebrow when he whined about being hungry. No mom. Scott hadn’t believed it until Uncle Hunter and him were at the funeral home, getting her cremated because it had been cheaper and quicker. He had barely held it together in time for Uncle Hunter to get him home, so he could rip out of his clothes as he shifted into his Sheltie form, and had laid in the horse stables for hours, making no sound and staring off blankly, ignoring the horses asking what was wrong.

The very next day had brought more pain. Uncle Hunter had approached him while Scott was tending to the horses and said he was selling the ranch to the current owner of King Ranch, because they had wanted to expand out this way anyway, and they were in the way. It had taken a while for Uncle Hunter to talk him out of his horse form, and to convince Scott to “not kick me in the nuts, please, hear me out!” Scott had been angry, and hurt, but Uncle Hunter told him they couldn’t afford the ranch at this rate. Scott had been almost ready to calm down because Uncle Hunter hadn’t wanted to leave but then - Uncle Hunter informed him he had gotten him a nice place set up in the city, he had some money for him, and he was sure with Scott’s hard-working drive and fit body, he could secure a job fairly quickly. Scott had exploded again, but this time in angry snarls and biting words, barely containing bursting into something as his body was wracked with hard shudders. He had told Uncle Hunter to give him the rent money for the apartment, the money he had now, and he would figure out a way to keep the ranch afloat on his own and without Uncle Hunter’s help. Uncle Hunter had said it wouldn’t be enough money to tend to the bills and animals, and that Scott would have to work multiple jobs to keep paying for the ranch. Scott had been willing to do any type of work to keep his ranch, his animals, his friends, but Uncle Hunter had dropped the bomb: he had already signed the ranch over and it was no longer theirs, and it would be impossible to buy back now. Everything Scott had known, everything he had grown up around, everything he literally lived and breathed, gone, in just two days. In a practical instant. Scott hadn’t even been angry anymore. He had just been sad.

Uncle Hunter had said he would put everything in the house in storage. He did. He had given Scott the address to the storage place and an extra key so he could access it whenever he wanted. He had only went once, to get a couple of pocket-sized family photos, needing something to remind him of the life that had been so suddenly ripped from him. He had let Uncle Hunter help him settle into the new apartment, into the city. The only thing he hadn’t let Uncle Hunter help him with was his goodbyes to his animals. It had been long, and drawn-out, and painful. Maybe more painful than his first few shifts. No one had been happy that day. After Scott had let Uncle Hunter see him to the apartment, Scott had told him to never contact him again, and slammed the door in his face. He had hated doing it but he had never felt such anger, or betrayal, before. For roughly the rest of the year, he had struggled to secure a place in society, and had barely managed. The money Uncle Hunter had provided him with didn’t last that long, and so he had gotten a shitty factory job, something he hated. He hated all the people, the loud noises, how he couldn’t look up at night and see the stars because of all the light pollution. He had wanted to run away, back to the ranch that was no longer Westwood Ranch. He could, slip in as an animal, visit, check up. It had struck him hard one night and he did it. Just one last time, just to see the house, his animals, the pasture. Just one last time.

He wished he hadn’t. King Ranch had cleaned up quickly. It had been all gone. The house, the barn, the pasture, the stable. All wiped away, to expand the King Ranch, to build up more pastures for separated livestock. He hadn’t even known where his animals were and he dragged himself back to his apartment, in the horrible, loud, and too bright city. As months kept going, he had been having troubles with controlling his ability, and he had more than once let animal noises slip around his co-workers. Scott did try, he talked to some of his co-workers, had to talk to his bosses, but he still struggled to find a footing. It hadn’t been like talking to Betty or Uncle Hunter, words flowing easily between them. He had been struggling. He had been at his wit’s end, considering between going to King Ranch himself, throwing himself at the feet of the owner and begging for a place to work, begging to see his animals because he would be able to tell which were his, or just disappearing, be it from becoming some stray animal and slinking off into the night, or just into nothingness. But, before he could really dip over an edge that he hadn’t been entirely sure where it would lead him, he had received a letter in the mail. Inviting him to the Avengers Academy. He had, of course, found it odd he had gotten a letter requesting him but… maybe, just maybe, this was what he needed. Maybe this was what his Uncle Hunter had meant when he said he could do good things, that he could be something. Either way, Scott felt like he had nothing to lose, so he accepted.

Initial observation report:
Subject purposefully comes off as indifferent because when he experiences bouts of strong emotion, he struggles to control his ability. Subject also appears to be very hard-working, listens well, but lacks social skills and struggles to communicate with others.

Training regimen/expertise:
- Covert Ops and Espionage coupled with Infiltration Training - subject has potential to be fine tuned to be able to slip in and out of places without notice.

- Firearms Training - subject has some experience in firearms and can benefit from more.

- Basic Combat Training - subject has no prior experience in fighting whatsoever and has never engaged in it before.

Potential outlook:
If subject can learn to control his ability, he could be a useful asset when it comes to going incognito.

Best case scenario:
Subject learns to control his ability when experiencing intense emotion, and becomes useful in undercover missions.

Worst case scenario:
Subject simply cannot grasp control of his ability, and does not work out.