Doom Patrol

Niles Evelyn Caulder.

What the devil are you doing out? Don't you know there's a ripper about?

Yes, sir.

There's no one to fleece tonight anyway, you little tea leaf.

Go on. Get going home. Or by Christ, I'll have you.

Yes, sir.

[speaking indistinctly and breathing heavily]

Curious.

Are you the Ripper, sir?

Are you?

Okay, Papa.

You can open them now.

French toast.

-Did you make this? -Rita taught me.

That was very good of her.

It's about all I'm good for. Cooking lessons.

Taste it. Taste it!

Okay.

Mmm!

It's wonderful!

It's...

-It's really delicious! - Do you really mean it, Papa?

I really do, darling.

-Good morning, Cliff. - Something's wrong with my hand.

The fingers are all slow.

I'll look at it as soon as I finish my very special breakfast.

Too...

fucking...

slow.

Rita, Dorothy, would you give us a minute, please?

Come, Dorothy. Let's go water the plants.

How about when my 11-year-old daughter is in the room,

we take the swearing down a notch?

No problem.

Does she know sign language?

When you're ready to confront this anger, Cliff,

I'll be there for you.

Pretty sure I'm confronting my anger right now, Chief.

And it feels fucking good.

Till then, I suggest you go away

-and do some work on your own. -What the fuck's that supposed to mean?

You were an angry man long before you and I ever met.

An angry husband.

An angry father.

Hey, I was a great fucking father.

I was way better than you.

'Cause my kid didn't grow up to be a monster

who could destroy the entire world.

You call my daughter a "monster" again--

And you'll do what?

Huh? What more could you possibly do to me?

Hey, Jane, you wanna get the fuck out of here?

Fuck, yeah.

Sorry about that.

Let's go back and finish our special breakfast. Mmm?

Why does Cliff hate you so much?

Did you do something wrong?

I did.

I made a very bad mistake.

Lots of mistakes, actually.

Did you apologize?

Many times.

Some wounds can't be healed with pretty words.

This isn't something you need to worry about.

My dear heart,

it's a grown-up problem.

Are those...

Butterflies!

It can't be. Dorothy, no!

Please tell me this is a seasonal migration, and not something freaky.

Oh, God damn it.

What is it, Papa?

I've been invited to a dinner with the divine Red Jack.

"Formal attire preferred."

That looks like Larry's bandages.

This isn't an invitation.

It's a very polite ransom note.

This Red Jack person has Larry?

Why? Who is he?

I'll explain on the way.

Now, it's important you understand what we're up against.

"We"? Oh, no. I'll sit this one out.

-No, Larry needs you. -For Larry's sake.

Please, I will just make things worse.

I have the purple brains spattered on my shoes to prove it.

Red Jack is a merciless being

who feeds on the suffering of others.

I cannot do this alone.

I'm on the fence, and that's your sales pitch?

He lives in an extra dimensional palace

and drops down into our world to refill on fresh pain.

He's committed countless atrocities

under the guises of Jack the Ripper,

-the Monster of Florence-- -Larry's in danger. I get it.

-Just please stop talking. -Right. Right.

-If we get separated-- -Why would we get separated?

We won't. But if we do,

follow the butterflies.

Oh, God damn it.

Ready?

Oh, fuck! Fuck!

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He actually had the nerve to tell me, me,

not to swear in front of his daughter. Can you believe that shit?

I can hardly believe it.

After he fucked my life in the asshole, and Clara's.

What about my little girl?

She grew up without her fucking father.

I mean, fuck!

Yeah, fuck.

This is what's gonna happen.

I give Clara the giraffe.

We hug it the fuck out. All is forgiven.

And her happiness is gonna fuck Niles Caulder in the fucking face.

Am I right?

Jane?

Jane?

Okay.

Awesome.

Best road dog ever.

Jane.

Thank you for coming.

You d-holes yanked me down here.

So, what gives?

Is this a fucking intervention?

Morning.

Hey.

Where is everyone?

Tuesday morning, nine o'clock, right?

E-mail went out last night. We switched to Wednesdays.

For real? Why didn't I get it?

Because I'm the one who sent it.

And you left me off?

Why?

Hey, whoa.

What's wrong?

We... We barely know each other.

-And? -No...

Now you know.

Wow.

You're beautiful.

Can I touch your chest?

Can you feel that?

Can you feel that?

What about that?

Not sure.

What the fuck is going on?

Help!

No. No, no. No.

Oh, God. No.

No, no. Oh, God.

No, no, no, no.

No!

You must be Larry. Welcome.

Larry Trainor. Rita Farr.

Though you probably recognize her.

Really, Niles.

Come on in, Larry.

There we are.

Now, I'm sorry, but I've lost contact

with a very important research vessel,

and now the search continues.

You'll be in Rita's very good hands,

and I've left something for you in your room.

I hope it'll make you feel more comfortable.

Niles tells me you were an exceptional pilot.

I know a little about flying.

I once played an aviatrix turned spy

in a picture called The Spy Who Could Fly.

So...

My room?

Oh, just up the stairs.

Chief agonized over every detail.

He wanted your room to feel as normal as possible

whilst still being radiation-proof.

He spent months developing a special film for the windows.

Sunlight is very important for one's mood, you know.

So is not being held captive by a shadowy government agency.

Well, you're here now.

What's this?

A gift from the Chief.

Those will contain the radiation.

You'll never have to wear that lousy suit again.

How can that be?

They're as thin as regular bandages.

Have a little faith in Niles...