Gavin Macrae

Introduction
The air was cold and clear; it had rained less than an hour ago. The clouds were breaking up to reveal a sky full of stars. There was a halo around the moon shining between the clouds.

Gavin pulled a fag out of his jacket pocket and lit it. He looked at his watch: 12:04 a.m.-it was Christmas Day. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke linger hover in the winter air. A dog-one of those yippy rats of a dog-barked from the window of a nearby flat. He took the last drag from the cig, dropped to the ground, and crushed it. With his hands in his pockets, he walked along the street, wishing someone would strangle that dog.

He passed by the football pitch and stopped, leaning against the fence. Looking over the field, he breathed in the cold air, letting it trickle down the back of his throat, soothing it. He was in no hurry to get home. All his accounts were settled, all his debts paid, save one. And it was going to be the hardest of all.

He reached for his cigarettes when he heard a shout. A hundred yards down the street, a man was being chased by four other men, punks in their late teens or early twenties, probably.

Gavin turned away, looking back over the field. He put a cigarette into his mouth, but it would not light. He looked over his shoulder and watched the man collapse on the street. The man struggled to his feet, but was set upon by the other four. They shouted gleeful obscenities as they kicked and beat him down.

Mumbling obscenities to himself, Gavin dropped the cigarette and ran toward the gang. As he approached, he said, "I think he's had enough," as he reached for the knife behind his back.

"What's it to you, Old Man?" Gavin did not recognize the voice or the face of the punk, but he recognized the attitude. It had once been his.

Another punk kicked the man on the ground. Gavin jumped at him, shoving him away. The other three converged on him, but he swung the knife in a wide arc and kept them at bay. The man did not move or make a sound.

"Back away and run on home, boys." Gavin stared into the eyes of their apparent leader. "Go home."

The leader said, "C'mon mates. We'll deal with this crazy fool later." With that, the four of them backed away and strolled back down the street.

Gavin leaned over the stranger. His clothes were worn and dirty. His bearded face showed the signs of a life on the street. He was not breathing. "Bugger this," Gavin said as he took a breath and tried to revive the man. He had no formal CPR training; he was just mimicking what he saw on television.

It was not working. Gavin gave up. Kneeling on the ground, he checked the man's pulse one more time-nothing. Gavin hung his head, pressing his forefinger and thumb into his eyes.

Suddenly, the man reached up and grabbed Gavin's head, pulling it down to this. The man exhaled into Gavin's mouth. The vapors that escaped his lips had an eerie golden glow as they found their way into Gavin's nose and mouth. Gavin gasped, pulled away, and fell backwards.

As he lay on the sidewalk, he was overwhelmed, as if struck by a great hammer, and cried out into the night. Gavin could feel every death in the world. He felt the anguish and pain, but also the relief and joy, and he wept. He also felt every birth and the emotions washed over him like a great flood. He could not hear his screams, as a cacophony of life and death filled his ears.

After an untold time, his would have passed out, but refused to give in and forced himself to stand. Gavin realized that his sanity was on the brink-that lesser men, perhaps even the stranger, might succumb and go insane. He staggered and leaned against the wall, his breathing shallow and haggard.

In his body, his blood and bones, he could feel the struggle of life and death. Gavin thought wearily back to his reckless youth; this struggle was not unlike uppers and downers fighting to take control. He had to walk the line between the two extremes, to not succumb to either light or dark. He focused on the bricks in the wall until he found his balance.

He stood up and looked down at the stranger. Gavin searched the man's pockets for identification, but found none. Picking up the body, he carried it several blocks to a church. Christmas Mass was just ending. No one leaving the church noticed him or his burden. Gavin made himself known to the priest and left the stranger in her care.

Background
Gavin used to be a selfish, petty, amoral punk. His teens and twenties were squandered in a life of violence, drugs, and crime. He lived as a social vampire. By his early thirties, he was alone. His friends were either dead, in prison, missing, or no longer considered friends. He was in deep to gangsters, dealers, and other lowlifes. He was tired and had had enough.

It took him five years to settle his accounts, to clean his slate-a five-year process to climb out of his spiritual hole. The journey to redemption was not without setbacks and heartache, but he persevered. In the first minutes of Christmas Day, he had only one last bit to settle-his child.

He loves his daughter very much, and would do anything for her, even if her mother has not yet forgiven him for his past evils. Gavin has told her everything of his new life, which see says is a start in the right direction, but she does not fully trust him. He wants to rekindle their relationship, but it taking it one step at a time and not forcing the issue. He knows that if she lets him back into their lives, it will be on her terms, not his.

Personality
Now in his mid thirties, Gavin has a greater appreciation and love of life than most people around him, and this was before he become what he is. Gavin has no patience for punks and loves nothing more than to put them in their place. Gavin still loves a good fight. His idea of a good time is still hanging, drinking beer, watching football, and going to clubs.

Appearance
Gavin has black hair, cut short and spiky, which he dies green or white or whatever color, depending on his mood. He has removed all his piercings, except for a gold ankh earring. He also wears a silver cross around his neck, usually hidden under his shirt. Jeans, shirt, and boots are his normal attire, along with his leather jacket.

Powers/Skills
Some may call him an angel of death, but he is also an angel of life. When he dies, the mantle will pass on to someone else.

He can drain the life force out of person. Typically, he only does it long enough to cause unconsciousness, but he can kill. He can also heal, restoring and strengthening the life force. He can bring back people from the dead, but only if the soul has not yet transcended.

To use his powers fully, Gavin must touch the target. If the target is within a few yards, Gavin's powers still work, but lack their full potency. The ability to cause or reverse death is impossible without prolonged physical contact.

He can sense life all around him, allowing him to detect the presence of people or animals near him, even from behind. He can sense the very moment someone dies and the soul transcends.

Gavin gives off an aura that causes him to be practically invisible-people subconsciously choose to ignore his presence-unless he chooses to be seen. His image is captured on video, radar, and other technological means, but those viewing his image may have a difficult time reconciling what the monitors say and what they see.

Children and those who are sensitive to the supernatural can see him, and may recognize him for what he is, but not fully appreciate it. Those who fear death see him as an omen of evil with an aura of darkness; those who embrace life see him as a sign of hope with an aura of light. Most people see him has a man. Gavin can emphasize either aspect of his nature to influence people. Animals can be unnerved by his presence.

As a street punk who survived, Gavin is very street wise, tough, and can handle himself quite well in a fight. He does not have any real marketable skills, so he drifted between various odd jobs.