Issue #2, Aug. Yr. 1

---

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.

---

FDC presents "and your bird can sing"
by Gary Dreslinski

Titans HQ

Gar Logan, aka the Changeling, aka Beast Boy was NOT having the time of his life. Every second on monitor duty was one more second he wasn't out doing SOMETHING - ANYTHING in fact. He jumped when the priority channel beeped and his finger went over to the button to answer. But it never got there. His finger just stopped in mid-air. It stayed there for a few seconds, as the beeps continued, suspended just above answering. He never noticed.

It was a tune, stuck in his head. The same tune, over and over again, but he couldn't quite get the second verse. Try as he might, he just couldn't get it.

Finally he got up out of the chair and headed out of the room, "Roy would know" he said, and never once looked back.

The monitor room was completely quiet when the men dressed completely in mauve entered, erased the frantic recorded message that had been left and completely rearranged the room more to their liking. No one
would ever comment on it, but something about the room would seem just a little bit off from then on.

---

JLA headquarters

An emergency had called the entire team away. An emergency that no one would later remember, just that they had to go face it. No one really wanted to talk about it. Maybe something bad had happened. If pressed, even the mightest among them could only say that it was important. And that it had to be faced immediately.

The Martian Manhunter, two months later, ALMOST noticed that the entire HQ was impeccably neat. But at the crucial second that he almost said something to the Green Lantern about how odd it was, he suddenly remembered he needed to do something. He just wasn't sure what it was. So he asked about that instead.

---

New York

"Damn!"

Cliff Steele slammed down the receiver at the pay phone. No matter who he tried, no one would pick up the phone. No one would return his calls, no matter what number he left. He'd even tried to go in person - but somehow he never got there. There was always an accident right in his path, or some baby to save. omething bugged him about that, but he just couldn't quite put his finger on . . . there was this really neat deli down the street he'd been meaning to go to. Never mind the fact that he didn't have taste buds, not for quite some time.
He just felt like acting like he was digesting something. His insides would be hell to clean out later, but it was worth it just for the expressions alone.

---

Cape May Courthouse, New Jersey

Mr. Nobody. Master of the Surreal and Founder of the Brotherhood of Dada. He'd once trapped Paris in a painting. It was a statement. It took the both the Justice League and the Doom Patrol to restore things to normal. Normal was dull. Superheroes were dull. It was a wonder that they didn't collapse onto each other in a frenzy of dull passion and make little dull babies. He'd come to change the dull - starting with this place.

In a short time, he'd been able to turn the entire town into a Dali. Buildings melted into the streets, people became their cubist ideal. All this from a man who looked more like a big black question mark than anything else. It was his statement.

What he hadn't counted on was the ART CRITICS.

The man who was once SOMEBODY, even as Mr. Nobody. . . the one time Master of the Surreal . . . was found literally stretched out over the entire length of the state of New Jersey. It was a statement, but not his own.

Someone might have thought about looking into it, but it really wasn't worth the trouble. What was left was merely cleaned up and disposed of.

---

New York, New York

"When the going gets tough, the tough get wierd" - some days Cliff thought that might as well be etched into his metal torso. Nothing since the racing accident that left him without a body had been normal. Not the early days in the Doom Patrol - and especially not the latter ones. Finding out that Niles Caulder, his mentor, had been behind all of their "accidents" had been a bit of a blow, but not as much as it could have been had the man not been a son of a bitch most of the time anyway. Finding out that a cult had formed around the man's legacy was far harder. Finding out that men had killed a member of his old team in the *name* of Caulder was harder yet.
After failing to get back-up from other teams in the area, Cliff had tried locating the headquarters from the business card. He'd even tossed around a few of the goons hanging out in the pizza joint that was fronting it. (After all - what was one more pizza joint in New York?) He'd got to the passageway that lead to the store room before some sort of force field stopped him. He beat on it for two days straight, tried to find a way around, over or under it for two more days - to no avail.
Finally he did the only thing he could do - he got weird.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice"

"My pleasure Mr. Steele. What can I do for you?"

Cliff paused to look at the Godfather of the Underworld, from his appearance just another gigantic frog sitting on the head of what most of been some sort of Frost Giant. But Cliff knew better. This was one of the most powerful and influencial beings in the country with webbed toes in every pie imaginable.

"I need information on the Cult of Niles Caulder. Who they are and how to stop them. I need your help."

The frog smiled.
"Of course you do."

Cliff wasn't too surprised, very little got by the Frog.
"What are you prepared to sacrifice to get them?"

"Whatever I have to."

The Frog smiled,"Spoken like a martyr born. . .what you will lose this time dear Clifford is something too dear. Walk away."

Cliff stood firm. "I can't."

There was silence for a moment, broken by the Frog's grin, "Then you shall pay the price in the end. I wish it could be otherwise. What good is giving others the benefit of the sight if they are too stubborn to listen?"

"So - you will help me?"

"I will give you one who will."

"Who?"

"Go to London, England. There is a boy there who will contact you. . . you may leave now."

"Thank you." Cliff said, as he turned and walked away to make his travel arrangements.

As Cliff's foot hit the aspault of the street above, the Frog turned.

"I was wondering when you were going to show."

The men dressed completely in mauve said nothing as the Frog croaked.

---

Next: Off to London we go as we learn a thing or two about the Cult of
Niles Caulder and things really go to hell.