Several years ago, near the fabled Qumran Caves, a tiny baby boy was left outside the weathered wooden door of an ascetic brotherhood sanctuary. Only a note pinned to the thin blanket gave a clue in one word to his origin…ANAK.
Sickly, spindly, left for the hope of a proper burial when the baby’s flame flickered and went out.
But the Essenes saw all things as providence and nurtured the boy in the rituals and diet of the order. Daily, he ate the unsprouted breads and engaged in the cleansing water ritual at the Dead Sea. But the priests saw he was different from the other orphans, Jordan, as he was called, didn’t float in the hypersaline waters…he sank. And to the surprise and consternation, he grew larger as the minerals saturated his body.
Minerals from the times of Genesis.
From the times of his lineage.
Though Jordan’s beginnings and parents were unknown, the elder brothers saw a strength in the boy that could only come from the lines of the Nephilim...Giants of the Essenes writings.
The other boys kicked leather balls in soccer matches, Jordan exercised with the blocks and timbers meant for temple construction. At adulthood, he was drawn to the military. He excelled in the conflicts, but his continued water rituals caused him to increase in size and strength and, in a word, he was just too big and heavy for the Army equipment.
Jordan took employment with the Broker, a gentleman that retrieved artifacts and property. Jordan wasn’t a name that demanded respect, so the Broker gave him a new name symbolic of his immense size and strength. At eight feet tall and six hundred pounds of dense, unyielding muscle and sinew, it was only fitting that the Broker called him…Gibraltar.
He went with the Broker and the Two Drops of God to retrieve the war machine armor of the evil Black Sun from the bottom of the Hudson River in Manhattan. Met by the Mighty Manhattans, Gibraltar was an imposing figure and, without asking permission or approval, took the armor from them and tossed it into the helicopter. The armor was of ancient iron weighing over a ton with a deadly Gatling gun and diesel driven pistons and Gibraltar tossed it like a pair of sandals.
Gibraltar is neither good or bad, he only knows a sense of duty. He is always silent and lets his demonstrations of prowess speak for him. The Mighty Manhattans understood the message and stepped aside that day.