Gabriel in 100

Gabriel is a wolf-sharp smile and eyes in shattered slate.  He is voices on the wind and in the mind, ice-prickly walls and too-strong telepathy.  He is acoustic guitar and call-and-answer songs echoing down rows of plantation cotton.  He is the rifle report of a Union soldier, the tattered grey of a Confederate messenger.  When he lounges on the sofa, barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, listening to jazz, his victim is another continent away.  Gabriel can close his eyes and remember sterile institution walls, and with a single thought, the target is dead.