It took a good seven years to realise I had been reborn on a death world. From the Detective Comic franchise.

Currently my only defence is sarcasm. It is all I have, since I have no powers as far as my childish body can display. Of course I have no way to tell which version of DC I am in, so yeah… that sucks. I really hope it isn't a Hellblazer version, because those suck for everyone involved.

How do I know this? Because the US map has clearly noted major cities called Metropolis and Gotham.

Of course I can't be surprised that the iconic heroes aren't around, with the exemption of Wonder Woman, Dr Fate, Red Tornado and the Original Flash and Green Lantern who were active back during World War Two and then mostly fell into silence.

Which brings us to the present; myself a young boy of twelve. It's 1989 and still no sign of Superman or his alternate versions (Communist/British/Crimelord). The version that appears should clarify whether I'm in a timeline/universe that is horrible or merely dangerous.

Unfortunately I'm not an American citizen or from my original birthplace of Australia… I live in Vlatava… a tiny Eastern European country… the one that has just one particularly annoying character in residence: Count Vertigo.

Which brings to the fore my other problem: he's my father. Yep, I'm the firstborn son of a genuine Super Villain (he wishes, he's just a step above mook tier at best, but supremely arrogant).

Mom pawned me off on nannies and tutors since my birth and since I'm somewhat less childish than is normal (being reincarnated sucks, so boring...) I got sent off to boarding school years ahead of schedule. I barely see her more than twice a year, usually just to be trotted out to the royal court and my accomplishments drunkenly rubbed in the faces of the other nobles.

Dad is no better, he spends his time with harebrained scheming and nothing I do is good enough. At least I see him even less than my absentee lush of a Mom.

As a result I have a lot of stress and anger issues. And my general education is complete already.

Oh yes, and my aunt who is still only a year old is set to inherit the throne. Because that stuff is catnip to Game of Thrones rejects like Dad.

The worst part? His first idea to cut the royal family a member short: trick me into doing the deed with a 'special' gift for the infant. I smelled a rat as soon as he asked me to come home, since I currently was relaxing before college at my private chalet (technically Dad's but only I use it). I mean I had only met him in a personal setting twice. So it was a big deal.

I knew better than arguing with the scheme, he was just as brutal to me as anyone else who got in his way. The first time I embarrassed him by spilling a drink in public he beat the five year old me with a riding crop… I still have the scars. I could see the murder in his eyes as he gave me the wrapped gift of the princess.

But screw the old bastard, I wasn't going to be a tool.

I opened the box and replaced the adorable stuffed rabbit with a store-bought replica I slipped out the castle to buy in the few hours before her birthday ceremony. I burned the original in a rarely used fireplace, since it was probably poisonous or infected with cholera or something just as ridiculous.

It was the following day, when I passed my father in the hall with a look of barely concealed fury aimed my way that I decided I had over played my hand. Probably because the baby was still alive and pictured on the newspaper hugging her gift.

I stole a handful of Mom's better jewellery and skipped town on my accumulated pocket-money… I had been saving for the eventuality I'd become a runaway. Just as well Dad was by no means able to judge a decent amount for a child's spending. I had a nice amount in US bills, it rounded down to three hundred thousand. I used the same Swiss bank he did for added security.

Unfortunately I couldn't get very far, since Dad had control over the military. I walked right into the border guard.

And so, boom! No more cushy homes or learning, he shoved me into his private dungeon.

If I had been an angry child before, now I was pissed off.

I had nothing to do, besides walk around, jangling my chains. I settled on attempting magic, since that was real here. I had no clue so I tried a variety of things, spilling blood, drawing symbols, entreating beings and forces I knew or suspected existed. For example the Green and Red.

In the end sometime later, several months I believe, I stumbled across what at first appeared to be an optical illusion. Straining I could move the dust in the air. I thought this was a display of telekinesis, I was wrong. After several days flexing this 'muscle' I found it had more effect on my chains. I could rattle them with a slight effort.

Unfortunately they were bolted to the cell wall, so I couldn't see much use for this, at first. Then some time later I managed to lift the chain with my mind. I had realised my power was magnetism or something like that… when I first pushed my growing frustration and hatred into my attempt and found myself 'floating'. Technically my bound wrists and ankles were holding me in the air as my powers lifted the metal.

Now only one character I could name had power that was similar to this; a Marvel character, Magneto. Now this actually made some sense, since if I was the victim of a wild ROB being a Marvel mutant means maturing into powers around adolescence. Metahumans in DC can happen at any age. Magneto's awakened in outrage to Nazi atrocities. And they were strong. Near the bottom of the upper tier of all Marvel characters, reaching Omega level or just under it. Which still doesn't compare to being a bullshit Kryptonian. But it has it's moments.

The sad thing about being a captive of my own father, he thought it was appropriate punishment. The equivalent of being locked in my room. So aside from receiving high quality meals, I was left to rot.

If nothing else every day was helping my growing hatred of everything Vertigo related, pushing my powers both in range and force.

Finally I had gotten to the point where I could finagle my powers into lock-picking. Without a pick. Using my powers to explore the pins and depress them until I stumbled across the appropriate form to unlock my chains and door.

Sneaking back into the castle proper, from the literal dungeon I observed changes. I could sense the metal objects around me for the entirety of my range. From copper wires in devices and walls for power to the steel trophies of distant, tacky ancestors. Swords, rapiers and suits of armour. I found the old armoury, with Dad's equipment in a sealed room. His favourite rapier, a pistol and costume. The door opened when I unlocked it, even if it was more complex than the average lock I had encountered.

I found little that I could claim, the whole suits were too large. Aside from a set of bracers and greaves. Just my size, if a touch dusty after years buried under junk in a corner. A touch rusty too, but my purposes were far simpler. I wasn't using them for more than anchors for my power to lift me.

I sensed the various people around me as concentrations of flowing iron and electrical signals that originated from their blood and nerves. Apparently I had tripped a low tech alarm switch (a bell at the end of a string!) entering the armoury. I sensed gun-barrels of rifles belonging to the houseguards as they stacked up in the hallway beside the door.

Well, cornered as I was I used my powers on a large, complete suit of armour. The heavy, solid steps of my puppet must have startled the guards, since their hearts were racing as it strode out of the armoury to face them, holding a spiked mace.

The guards shouted at the puppet to get on it's knees and surrender as they raised their rifles, preparing to fire. I pulled down on the gun barrels and they fired at the floor, yelping in surprise. Then a metal gauntlet met face, dropping their captain. I grinned, having the metal suit point at the next and raise the mace in a ready stance and charge.

The guards yelped and scattered, the mace clipping the slowest on the shoulder and breaking it, if the huge surge of nerves firing from there indicated agony.

I followed along, letting the suit act as my distraction as I searched for my room and my belongings. The room was as I left it, clean and empty. My clothes were small on me now, a growth spurt in my cage, I reasoned. I wasn't sure about my bank account's safety now, but the papers and codes were still in my bag. My original bugout kit was in my cupboard, the one I was caught trying to escape with. Mom's jewels were gone, but otherwise it was the same as when I packed. I discarded the lunchbox that was a fungus farm now, but the clothes aside from being musty were acceptable.

I added a pair of fire pokers and my ski mask, in the sides of the case and using the metal levitated it out the window, before following. I wasn't going to start a fight now with Daddy Dearest. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't certain I could stop bullets yet, never mind the big stuff. I needed time. Rising into the darkening sky I reached out with my power and caught the tail of a passing passenger plane, being towed by it to where ever it would land with a good deal of hope for the future.

As I flew, I hurriedly threw on heavier clothes as the plane began to climb. No wonder Magneto had a solid looking costume with a cape, it's freezing up here.