A Shit Start

[~12th June 1995~]

[~Vernon Mansion~]

The leaves of the large apple tree swayed harshly under the summer wind. The window refracted the light as the clouds occasionally passed by.

My eyes gazed uninterestedly at the comic book in my hand as I flipped through its pages. A few others rested beside me on the table.

I sighed, closed the book, and tossed it onto the table. Leaning back in the chair, I rolled my eyes at the cluster of nonsense they contained.

They were all the same, full of extreme propaganda and excessively unnecessary ad placements compiled into a kid's book.

Soldier Boy sure as hell didn't use 'Voughtier' body spray as he rushed to fight the Third Reich, but here it was.

The absurdity of this world made me understand the impact of consumerism on the masses; everyone believed this garbage. Having a legendary figure to back it up only fueled the delusion.

It made me question how much of the truth was ever published in the papers back in my old world.

I still vividly remember that day, even though It has been seven years.

Seven fucking years since I opened my eyes as a small, cooing, snot-nosed, shit-spraying baby.

It took me a year to control my bowel movements and another year to crawl, stand up, and utter a few words.

It didn't take long to figure out the world I had found myself in. Actually, it didn't even take a week, thanks to Arthur's constant comparisons of me to Soldier Boy. But it did take me while to find whether it was the show or the comic, and I believe it's the show.

Speaking of my parents, my father is a sadistic perfectionist, and when things don't go his way, it's probably the butler who pays for it. As for my mother... Well, for lack of better words, she's a slut, but a slut who adores me.

"Master Robert." I heard a voice as the door to the library opened inwardly, and Elijah walked in with a plate.

My eyes zoomed in on his cuffs, noticing the wheat dust layered over them and traces of ketchup and mustard on his thumbnail. A heavy scent of Brazilian roasted coffee beans hit me, combined with the rough toast of bread and cabbage.

"Your breakfast is here, sir." Elijah chimed as he placed the plate on the table.

"Let me guess." I mused, looking at the closed silver lid.

"A heavy blend of Brazilian Americano with a pair of sandwiches."

"A ten out of ten, sir." He replied, removing the lid, but his face lacked any enthusiasm or surprise as he said those words.

My powers kicked in when I was five.

When they did, it felt like my senses were dialled to eleven. I could perceive almost anything: the air felt thinner, the spectrum of colours waved, tones became patterned, everything was structured and layered.

I also felt myself growing stronger almost immediately. It started with breaking a plate just by touching it, and now I can confidently say I could lift a bike or two without much trouble.

I've noticed the patterns and seen myself gradually growing stronger over time.

But even with my powers, my father always finds my imperfections intolerable and the unmaking of a future legend.

A few weeks after my powers awakened, my father set a strict training regime for me. Even the simplest mistake would lead me to the Punishment Dungeon, or as he likes to call it, the Naughty Cave.

He would whip me all night without an ounce of love, yelling about the perfect making of a hero, about how I was supposed to be flawless.

But it eventually stopped when I developed my durability. With the gradual rise in my strength, my body also developed durability against objects. Knives didn't penetrate me, whips didn't cause pain anymore. I don't know about bullets, and frankly, I haven't tried it yet.

Once he understood he couldn't punish me physically, he changed the punishment to mental.

He would drown me in a Chinese water trap or put me in a cramped isolation chamber for a day.

But that didn't mean he gave up on the physical abuse. Instead, he projected it towards his multiple partners he would have overnight, none of them being women.

While he did this to me, my mother was probably high as fuck or getting her ass fucked by some son of a bitch she met at a drug rave.

What a family, right?

I know I could kill him anytime I wanted, but the question always lingered: What's after that?

The only good thing about Arthur is that he's rich, which means by context, I am rich, and I don't plan on giving that up by going to some psycho supe orphanage or money-licker foster stuff.

Everything has a time, and his time will come.

Last night, we were at a party, one of those wealthy get-togethers. A Patron Ball, I believe.

It was hosted by one of Arthur's friends, and Arthur was bragging about me to everyone as if I were the second coming of Soldier Boy.

He threw me into the spotlight like I was some sort of trained monkey, but I sucked up my displeasure and did as we had rehearsed.

Frankly, I was cute enough to be a child model, I believe genetics had a hand on that, I would have naturally earned their attention by just socializing but regardless, he was too pushy on proving my supe capabilities.

Juggling three bicycles at once is not as easy as it seems, but I did well. Just when I thought I had escaped a night of cramped space, a supe called Redhound crashed the party, stealing all my spotlight.

"The food is getting cold, sir." Elijah reminded, breaking me out of my reverie.

I began to dig into the food, savouring the taste that blared into my tongue. I nodded approvingly to Elijah.

My superhuman taste almost made me unable to eat anything not well-prepared. I can't even eat a McDonald's burger without throwing up at the stuffy smell of a beef patty.

Elijah makes all the food I eat, and he could be considered the only normal one in this house, a closer father figure than my own. He always takes care of me, regardless of Arthur's commands, making sure to slip in some food even when I'm stuck in the cave.

Once I finished the food, I wiped my mouth and hands, placing the cloth over the plate.

"Has my father woken up?" I asked without meeting his eyes.

"No, sir." He replied while picking up the plate and placing it on the tray. "Master Arthur is still asleep with his friend in the dungeon."

"That's good." I nodded.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"What about Redhound?"

"He, indeed, left the estate this morning, sir." He answered, narrowing his eyes at me. "Leaving Lady Elena and her room a half-day's worth of mess."

I took a long breath, clasping my hands together as I had a thought.

"Prepare to go out, Elijah." I said, standing up.

"Where would we be visiting, sir?" He asked, arching his brows.

"The church." I said nonchalantly as I walked out of the library. "It's time we bring some Godliness to this wretched house."

Elijah's steps halted, earning my attention as I turned around.

He had stopped pushing the trolley, a pause on his face as the gears in his mind slowly turned.

"Are we doing it?" He whispered before asking louder. "Are we doing it? Today?!"

I smirked, turning around and walking down the stairs.

"Better as any day, Elijah."

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[A/N: Drop some power stones.

Mainly comments.

FYI: Spoiler for next chapter.

Has any of you know the Origin story of Earth-3 Owlman?