Most Characters belong to DC Comics. I introduced Keith, Chris, and a few others, but the majority of the characters are from DC Comics, and this story is just fan fiction. The DC Comics homepage is http://www.dccomics.com. This story takes place roughly 8 years after the events of Our Worlds At War, the current DC Comics Crossover.
The Silver Sentinel
by: Becca Reed, 2001
Prologue
No one knew exactly when the Super-human Event had begun. Some theorists suspected that the so-called ‘Metahuman’ community had, in fact, always existed, and these ‘experts,’ cited evidence of giant warrior-men (the Nephelim) and horrible witches and warlocks of archaic legend who possessed powers far beyond those of mortal men. To this way of thinking, mankind had always had its Super-humans, and likely always would. Best to cope with them as well as could be done.
Others – often those of the more fearful, more jealous members of the societal community, who feared the growing influence the Supermen exercised in international power-broking – claimed that Metahumans were a new addition to the human race, (If, in fact, they were human at all, which some believed highly unlikely and used as a platform for condemnations and denunciations.) possibly the product of mid-twentieth century genetic experiments – It was a well-known fact that the first costumed ‘Supermen’ emerged in the early 1940’s, as champions of either the Allied or Axis Powers – and as such were the genetic property of the World Governments – the UN, NATO, US, or EU.
But whatever their origin, by the late 1980’s it was evident to the World Community at large that the Super-human Event was here to Stay. At first, this did not seem to be so much a bad thing – the first ‘Supermen’ were, in fact, almost crucial to the Allied Victory over the Nazis in the Second World War. They were praised as Heros by the media, and when the Axis powers were crushed, our Heros came home to a warm welcome and a generally pleasant role as Guardians of Peace and Justice.
And when Super-human crime exploded onto the scene in the late seventies and early eighties, it seemed almost natural for the Superheroes to return. And mankind was glad of their presence – indeed – chief among the iconic champions of the day were such memorable leaders as the Batman, Green Lantern, the Flash, Wonder Woman, and the greatest hero of all – Superman himself. The Charismatic ‘Last Son of Krypton,’ known throughout the world as other monikers such as "The Man of Steel," "The Metropolis Marvel," or just "Superman," risked his life time and time again, and even sacrificed it on one notable occasion, to save the lives of countless billions, not just upon the planet Earth, but throughout the cosmos.
Fully possessed of the struggle to defend the ideals of "Truth, Justice, and the American Way," the new Heros served as well as the old. But now the playing field was different. Super-villains, some – notably the villains Nero, Darkseid, Dominus, or Doomsday – of whom many were as powerful as the Superheroes themselves, wreaked great harm upon the planet Earth, regardless of Superhero presence, and even in the face of Superhero resistance. But mankind had faith in their heros, and they always believed that one day, regardless of the odds arrayed against them or the hopelessness of their causes, the Supermen WOULD win the day.
But that was all before the onset of Tiberius.
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He was born Marcus Tiberius Rex, the utterly normal son of two utterly normal white, middle-class working Americans, in 1975. He’d had an utterly normal childhood, had utterly normal friends, and attended an utterly normal school. But there were always one or two rather remarkable points of interest to this otherwise unremarkable boy. For one, his intelligence blossomed at an astounding rate, and by the fourth grade, he’d easily met all the educational requirements of a student 4 grades his senior. He had a passion for ancient history, which for him included a remarkable interest in many of the most powerful leaders of the old Roman Empire (two of whom he’d been named for), and an unquestioned ability to lead: he was the champion of the under-dogs in his school, their leader, defender, and best-friend.
But these things his parents and teachers largely ignored, for, despite his remarkable intelligence and inspired leadership, Marcus was still, in many ways, as utterly normal as any other young man of 10 years. He had no outstanding physical power at that age, and just like any other boy his age, he was attracted to the stories, legends, and conquests of ‘the Superheroes.’ He would tell his mother, now and again, that one day, he would grow up to be a Super-hero, and make all the bad men pay. His mother would smile, nod her head in that not-quite-patronizing way only a mother can, and then turn away, pleased to be able to convince herself that her son was, quite simply, just another young American boy.
But at 15, that sentiment vanished from Marcus’ life, along with his parental guidance and familial upbringing, and poor Marcus was irrevocably scarred. And it all had its roots in one, otherwise unremarkable, evening.
Unremarkable, except for the fact that his mother failed to come home that evening.
Two weeks later, amid a storm of tears and patently ignored denials, Mario Rex, Marcus’ father, was brought up on charges of rape, and murder, in the case of Lacey Rex’s disappearance. It turned out that Lacey’s mother – who had never found Rex to be ‘good enough’ for her daughter – was convinced that when Lacey, panicked and calling from her office phone, had called the evening of her disappearance, babbling on and on ‘I think he wants to kill me – I never meant any harm – I think he wants to kill me,’ that she’d meant her husband. And the police, having no other suspects, brought Marcus’ father in on his grandmother’s testimony.
Mario died in prison that night of a failed heart.
When the young orphan’s familial lines were searched for a suitable foster home, it was found that the law of the state of New York, where the Rex family had dwelt for 11 years, allowed for relatives of only a certain degree of blood-closeness to the orphan to take him in – and this, unfortunately, left only Grandmother. Grandmother made it plain that she did not want the boy, ‘the child of that bastard who murdered my sweet Lacey,’ and young Mario was stripped away from his home, his friends, and everything he had ever loved, to be shoved into the uncaring hands of a foster agency.
No one knew him anymore – not well enough to see the rapid changes in his personality. But there were changes. For years afterwards, the boy would not allow anyone to refer to him as Marcus. ‘Marcus Rex died the same night his father did. There is only Tiberius now.’ But no one could tell that he was quieter than ever, that he no longer trusted Policemen, Government Officials, or any ‘elder’ authority. He resumed his usual pattern of inspired leadership among the children of the foster agency, but now, instead of the young, innocent Marcus, who led out of hope and courage, there was instead a scarred and suffering youth who had taken to seeing all life in terms of the oppressors (the Authority Figures of Society) and the oppressed (the helpless, who could not contradict the Authority Figures.) He led primarily among the most rebellious and poorly-disciplined of the foster children, inspiring them to resist the ‘unfairness’ of their treatment, and encouraging them to assert their independence at every turn. He believed, and maintained, that it was cruelty of the uncaring oppressors that had brought suffering and hardships upon the children, the innocent and oppressed, and that when they were grown, they would have to ‘set things to rights.’
The only thing about young Marcus that hadn’t changed since his family’s dissolution was his fervent devotion to Superheroes. As the nineties approached, the formerly friendly relations between the world governments and the world’s legion of Super-powered protectors soured in the wake of the Death of Superman, and the myriad of governmental conspiracies that cropped up as the White House and the UN attempted to find ways to replace the Man of Steel. From 15, through 16, past 17, and on toward his 18th year, Marcus saw, over and over again, the power-struggles between the Supermen and the world leaders as the two sides clashed over the meanings of the words "Truth, Justice, and Freedom for all." The later "Reign of Superman" which would occur as Tiberius neared his 25th birthday, would only further convince the young man that his approach was vindicated through the actions of the Superheroes.
When Marcus turned 18, he left the foster home behind. However, he did not leave his angry rhetoric there as well, and that was not well for the world. Instead, he took his rebelliousness with him, and wherever he went, he would help and assist the poor and down-trod, all the while encouraging them in their resentment toward those in power – the power brokers and politicians who passed the odious laws and utilized the police forces against them.
And there the story would have ended – Tiberius, at best would have become no more than a political force of the ever-lackluster leftist wing in America – with the young, tragic boy wandering the States and bringing his message of resentment and anger to those in need ….
…. Had not fate intervened.
When Marcus was a boy, his parents deeply impressed upon him the existence of the one true God. And Marcus had believed. His faith had been unshakable, all throughout his life, and ever as he grew older he became more convinced of his religious beliefs, for he saw God in much the same way he saw the Superheroes. And he knew, he just knew, that God was behind him, and with him on his quest – to liberate the oppressed peoples of the earth, and cast down their oppressors.
But miracles are hard to come by, and without one, Tiberius was a just another zealot with credibility. His personal charm and inherent ability to command and lead made him many devoted followers in his travels, and many who before meeting him had opposed his message and his words were wooed by his powerful nature. But still – a few tens of thousands, spread across the vastness of the Americas, did not make for a social revolution.
Until it happened.
It fell from the sky, plunging to the Earth, and the force of its impact threw Tiberius’ car from the road. It was by sheer fortunate luck that the young man – then nearly 25 – was not killed when his car was hurled from the road. He clambered quickly out of his smashed, smoking wreck and raced across the smoking bowl of the impact crater, cautiously approaching the blue, glowing meteorite that had so powerfully struck the ground, tearing up a humongous crater.
It was cool – almost cold looking. No smoke rose from it, and a sheen of condensation seemed to glisten along its smooth, almost spherical sides. A sheen of blue energy-light waves seemed to radiate out from its porous surface, and most strangely of all, the nearer Tiberius got to the small heaven-stone, the more that blue aura seemed to reach out for him. It all seemed to inviting, so friendly and open and welcoming … he just had to touch it
So he touched it – just once, but even that quick, faint brush sent a rush of energy flooding through his veins. It was like the heady feeling of climbing to one’s feet after all the blood has rushed to the head. But even as he drew away from the blue stone, its radiant aura again reached out for him.
But this time – it did more than just reach for him. It grabbed him.
The blue aura enveloped his body, focusing tightly about the young man and holding him motionless. As Tiberius watched – half terrified, half intrigued – it seemed to him as though the stone was slowly being drained of all energies, and just as slowly pouring those energies into him. He could feel them moving about inside of him. The heady feeling just grew, and grew, and grew, and grew … until he simply could not feel it anymore, until there was nothing left to his senses but the sloshed feelings he was swimming in. He was so nauseated that he could not even bring himself to lose his cookies. He simply hung there, suspended, as the magic glow about him continued to pour energies into him. And then finally, after a long and valiant struggle, he succumbed to the impulse all humans experience when their bodily systems are overcome.
He fainted.
When he came too, he discovered that the stone had gone dead, dark, and cold, and that no energies continued to stream out of it to form the mystic aura he had seen before. Upon trial of his suspicions, he also discovered – to his great delight and exhilaration – that he now possessed Superpowers. He could fly, lift incredible weights, shoot beams of blue fire from his eyes, and do many other marvelous things.
Tiberius spent a long, thoughtful weekend then, pouring over the implications of his newfound status, and could come to only one conclusion. At long last, God himself had gifted him with the power he’d always needed to lead the oppressed to freedom. The slaves would be free. The masters would be cast down. And at long last, ten long years after the horrible tragedy that had ruined his life, Tiberius would finally set things to rights.
He’d emerged, then, from his seclusion, and in short order … the world had gone to straight to hell.
From Tiberius Rex
A Biography by Becca Bradly
© 2001
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