Issue #1, Jul. Yr. 1

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Long, Long ago in a place not too far away, there were a group of people bounded together to share in their pain, in hopes of bettering their lives and humanity in general. They were the Doom Patrol. Brought together by Niles "Chief" Caulder, they lived, they fought, they loved, and they died. And they came back, time and time again. Same people, different people - the faces changed except one,

Clifford Steele aka Robotman.

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FDC Presents "I Got Something I Can Laugh About"
by Gary Dreslinski

Once upon a time . . . that's how they start don't they? Stories of great heroes doing great things. Stories that capture your heart and play off your emotions like cheap dime store novels. Fine then, once upon a time there was a weed. It was a lovely weed, sitting along with its' friends in a patch of vile gardenias. The weed and his friends would laugh at the gardenias and sometimes play mean jokes on them. But it didn't matter - for they were just flowers. Until the day the HAND came. It was a cruel, metal hand and it reached from out of the clear blue sky and pulled at the weeds, it pulled them from their home in the soft cool ground. It slaughtered them, one by one, until all that was left was the one lone weed.
"Help me" he begged the gardenias.
But they only laughed as the cruel metal hand plucked him from the ground and into the embrace of death.
The cruel metal hand belonging to one Clifford Steele, aka Robotman.

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Plucked from the ground - that's what they had to do with what was left of the subject they were calling "Mashed Potato Girl", pluck the bits and pieces that were sticking out of the concrete out and try to figure out how they fit together. The beat NYPD who had found her in the parking lot, across from the place they had recently busted the "Jello Killer", had turned in their resignations from the force that same afternoon. Both were hardened professionals, both cited "personal reasons" for leaving. They both vowed to take their families someplace far away from the city - into the mountains maybe. Someplace where things like this could never find them again. Less than two weeks later both families were dead. But no one noticed. There was no funerals. No investigations. They simply weren't. But that's another story.

By the time the files got into the hands of Cameron Chase, most of the blood work had come back as unconclusive. The rest hadn't come back at all. Somehow it had just fallen through the cracks in the DEO.
Things like that just happen sometimes. What she did know however, from the digital composite they'd been able to piece together, combined with a genetic sample that seemed to be more mutating by the minute was who they had found. She also knew who she had to contact.

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The phone rang, but Cliff Steele ignored it. It was a telemarketer. He didn't even have to pick it up, didn't even have to go near the phone to know that much. Since coming back, since leaving Jane (he *still* wasn't completely sure WHY he had done that. Just seemed like a good idea at the time. Or maybe it was just that he enjoyed punishing himself.)he really hadn't done much of anything. Sure, he'd had a few laughs, a few adventures with a new bunch of people calling themselves the Doom Patrol. But it wasn't the same. That's why he finally left. He'd just packed it all up and walked away from it all.

Until IT knocked on his door.

"Mr. Steele?"

"Yes"

"My name is Cameron Chase, I'm with the"

"DEO, I know" "I'm impressed."

"Don't be. If it's in the alphabet sooner or later I get to hit it."

"May I come in?"

"Suit yourself."

Chase smiled,"Gee, thanks."

"What can I do for you Ms. Chase, I'm a busy man. I have things to do."

"Like mowing the lawn?"

"Well, yeah"

"Might not be a bad idea, I noticed it was getting a litte high."

"Can we just cut to the chase? No pun intended."

"Didn't think it was . . . Mr. Steele, may I call you Cliff?"

"No"

"Mr. Steele, I have something to tell you. You might want to sit down."

"Is it about Niles again?"

"No Mr. Steele. It's not about Niles Caulder. I'm afraid his head is still MIA."

"Good"

"Mr. Steele?"

"Bastard deserves it. Still gives me the willies though. Knowing that it's out there."

"I understand."

"No you don't. I pray to God that you never do."

Awkward silence follows. "Mr. Steele. It's about Dorthy Spinner."

"Dorthy?!? I haven't seen her since . . .well since . . . how is she? Is she in trouble?"

"Mr. Steele, Cliff . . . Dorthy is dead."

 

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Somewhere far away

A hand plunges into the opened chest cavity of a baby rhino. The man pulls out his hand, holding the rhino's heart in it. "Strong juju" he mutters, then puts the heart back in place. He moves his hand over the cavity and watches as it instantly heals. The baby rhino starts to stir from it's tranquanized bliss. "Strong juju indeed"

"Omen" The choir around him chimes.

"The Redeemer is upon us. Look Busy."

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New York City

"It's been a long time since I was back here. Didn't like it then. Don't like it now. I wonder why so many super heroes teams show up here? Is it just for the crime? Or maybe they just want to catch a show. I wonder how most of them can afford the rent? The Justice League at least had the decency to form in Rhode Island. Then they went out into space. . . wonder how they pay for that? What I really wonder though, is how there can be so many people running around in tights, so many people out there trying to save the world, and none of them able to save one little girl named Dorthy.

I checked the files with the DEO, and they all lead me back here. Back to the Big SomethingorOther.

Funny, but no one in the neighborhood seems to even remember seeing her. Maybe it's not all that funny, but what DOES seem funny is that no one in the neighborhood seems to bat an eye at the fact that a large metal guy is asking where to find a young girl who was recently brutually murdered. Something is foul in Denmark. And it's not just that I haven't changed my boxers.

It takes me a few minutes after the fourth or fifth denial - but I finally pick up on my tail. He's a big guy. He's hanging back, but he's obviously keeping an eye on what I do, who I talk to. I duck into a alley and down into the sewers through a manhole that I thoughtfully leave the cover partially off. Down the rabbit hole he comes sure enough. Stupid rabbit - these tricks are for Cliff. Just what I thought. Amauter.

I've got him by the neck before he can do anything. But bite down that is. I hate fanatics. He goes limp in my arms the second his teeth cut through the capsule, or whatever it is. Now I can't question him. But something tells me I don't need to.

There's a calling card in his jacket pocket. Just what the doctor ordered an *actual* card carrying cult member! "The Cult of Niles Caulder" and an address. Great. Just F-ing Great."

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Next issue: Cliff goes for help. And a blast from the past gets sacrificed!