"Ok, everybody, we go live in three... two... one..."

Clarence Clementine's grimace transformed smoothly into a smile as he turned to face his guest. They both sat on ugly, bright orange, deceptively uncomfortable chairs.

The boss had promised him that this would be the one last favour to his fans before he was assigned to serious journalism.

It was a promise that had been made two years ago.

"Roy Tung, ladies and gentlemen, a man who needs no introduction, but will get one anyway!" Clarence announced with a false cheer that made his teeth hurt. "Roy was a famous science fiction author who vanished suddenly at the height of his popularity ten years ago. Some said that he drowned at Cheviot Beach. Others claimed that you were abducted by the Chinese government. Ten long years, Roy. I dare say that we'd all love to hear the truth."

The studio audience burst into enthusiastic applause. It was a small crowd tonight, on the account that the Bureau of Meteorology had issued a cyclone warning for the area. A Category 5. They warned that the weather was severe enough to level Baytown, but Clarence wasn't too worried. He couldn't imagine any storm that bad happening around him. Besides, the show had to go on.

Roy, now a man in his forties, nodded sombrely and adjusted the shiny beanie he wore. Not even Molly had been able to convince the eccentric writer to take it off for the camera. Clarence didn't find it a problem. Tall, pale, and with a haunting stare, Roy looked more like a ghoul than a man. At least the beanie lent him a bit of cheer.

"Thank you, Clarence." Roy ignored the camera. It was clearly not his first rodeo. "No, it wasn't the Chinese government," he said gravely, pausing until the laughter died down. "It was our own. I was taken by a clandestine Australian unit."

The eloquence and conviction of his delivery did nothing to dampen the craziness of his words. Love affairs, drug fuelled benders and mental breakdowns were easy to digest. A government conspiracy on mainstream television was harder to stomach.

Clarence recovered first. His laughter was joined by a chorus of relieved twitters from the crowd. "Good one, Roy. Actually, this makes you the perfect person to clear some things up. What actually happened at Anderley Air Force Base last year? Are the rumour of the aliens true?"

The audience's polite laughter and the encouraging nods from Molly off screen gave legs to Clarence's shaky confidence.

"I don't know. I personally have never been there, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of the others have. They keep us in small groups at different bases. I was kept with three others up at Larrakeyah, with the Arnhem Squadron as our escort. If you look closely at one of their facebook pictures, you'll see me swimming at the Bromby Islands while a soldier stands on croc watch."

"Croc watch?" Clarence asked, stalling. His eyes darted to Molly, who was busy gesturing to the staff with one hand, and thumbing her phone with the other. Were they trying to bring up the facebook picture? Did they believe this nut case?

Roy mimed holding a rifle. "One person stands guard, watching for the salt water crocodiles, so the others can swim in relative safety."

"Watching for dinner, you mean." Clarence squeezed another laugh from the audience. He had to keep them entertained, even though he wanted to do nothing more than to walk out of this ridiculous interview. It would make the social media round and he would be typecast forever. Might as well give him a pair of glasses and call him Jerry Springer.

"And to shoot us if we tried to escape." Roy flashed his yellow teeth as he mimed the recoil of the the rifle shot. "Clarence, I'm disappointed. I followed that intern reality show where you said that you got into this business because you wanted to ask the hard questions. Yet here we are joking about crocodiles."

The words struck true, and hurt.

Clarence's smile slipped. "Ok, you want the hard questions. Let's go out on a limb and assume that your brain isn't a bat's nest, tell me, what kind of 'operations' would a secret government organization have a science fiction writer carry out?"

"They didn't want me for my writing. They took me because my very presence makes electronics fail."

"So you're like an electronics antichrist?" Clarence asked flatly.

"My agent was always trying to get me to type my manuscripts on a computer. But I could never seem to get near one without it breaking down. Imagine if you had something that could shut down or break, say, surveillance equipment or quantum computers in an untraceable way. Imagine what you could do."

"And it wasn't just you? You said there were others?"

Roy nodded. "All with some sort of abnormal influence over some domain. I met a woman who can dampen sound. A child who attracts storms. Twins who can drive people mad with a glance. They call us the Disaster Squad. Malum Prohibet Malum. Disaster prevents disaster."

"Surely, you can't be serious."

"I am. I came to warn the people like me, the ones who are still out there. They've found a way to detect us, but there is a safe haven for those who can make it out west."

"Just one thing, Roy. One problem with your story. You say that your very presence makes electronics fail. Yet here you are, surrounded by hundreds of pieces of equipment, all working fine." Clarence looked over his shoulder straight at a camera. "You're still broadcasting, aren't you?"

The camera man tilted his camera up and down in a nod that the people at home would be able to see.

Clarence turned back to Roy, his eyebrows lifted in challenge.

"It's because I have this on," said the ex-writer, patting his beanie. "It dampens the effects."

"And destroys your credibility," Clarence added. This would be his last show, he decided. After this, if they didn't give him something serious, he would quit.

"Are you asking for a demonstration?" Roy grinned.

"You have to do more than sprout nonsense to get my attention." Clarence crossed his arms, calling his bluff.

Roy complied. With a flourish, he removed his beanie.

Nothing happened.

"Ha!" The single sound that Clarence barked shone with vindication.

Then the lights went out.

Shouts of confusion. Of fear. Of the crew trying to get things up and working again. Finally, someone brought in torches, and organized for the audience to evacuate, followed by the staff. Roy was nowhere to be seen.

By then, Clarence had already figured it out. "Search the stage for a device that can emit electromagnetic pulses," he said as he found himself climbing the stairs beside Molly. Something about Roy's words still haunted him, though he knew it was all nonsense.

I came to warn the people like me, the ones who are still out there. They've found a way to detect us, but there is a safe haven for those who can make it out west.

"We have to go back for the EMP," he insisted. He'd feel better once they found it. Clarence didn't like mysteries.

"Leave it to security." She laid a hand on his arm and steered him towards the staff exit. "Come on. You and I must talk. I've told Amanda that I'm taking you home."

"Oh, no you don't," Clarence tried to pull away, but she had a vice grip on his arm. "Don't do Amanda's dirty work for her. You can't convince me to do another show."

"Your fans will want to know that you're ok. You owe them at least one more."

"One more episode?" Clarence presented his swipe card and the door opened to the humid air. His skin was damp in an instant. Though they were two kilometres inland from the water, it all smelt like ocean. Somewhere up north, a cyclone was making its way down the coast. But he remained optimistic.

"One more season."

Clarence shook his head. They had talked him into it a hundred times before. Maybe he let them. "Surely, you can't be serious."

Molly turned to him. "I am serious..."

"And don't call me Shirley!" They chorused, laughing.

"You know what would convince me to hear you out?" Clarence asked, though he had already resigned to his fate again.

"What?"

"A drink. You could at least buy me a very stiff drink."

Molly looked up. "You want to go drinking when the cyclone could be here any minute?"

The clouds were blacker than the sky. Clarence shrugged. His feet were already moving towards the pub down the street. "Everyone's over reacting. Baytown hasn't been hit by anything in years."

"There was Cyclone Marcia." Molly caught up with his steps.

"Yeah, but that was years ago." Clarence said. He had lived his whole life in this small, seaside town, but was filming overseas during the so-called calamity. Some beach side shacks had been blown over. "And that's nothing compared to what happened up north with Cyclone Yasi."

The small, air-conditioned pub was a welcome relief from the pre-storm mugginess. Only the drunks were still at the bar. Everyone sensible had already gone home. The television was switched to another channel, no doubt because the local one had just stopped broadcasting. It showed the weather system of the area, with a credible-looking newsreader urging people to take cover from the cyclone.

Molly tapped Clarence on the shoulder and pointed to the man sitting in the corner on his own.

"Roy!" Clarence's eyes bulged at the sight of the man, beanie back on his head, sipping beer casually.

Roy lifted his glass in a kanpai-salute. "You made it." He gestured for the barman to bring more drinks, assuming that the two from the studio would join him.

He was right. Clarence's annoyance soon gave way to curiosity, and he planted himself on an empty seat. Molly also sat down, both hands gripping her phone as she thumbed it madly.

"Where did you hide the EMP?" Clarence asked surely.

"I didn't hide it," was the reply. "It was sitting in plain sight. I was sitting in plain sight."

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but our director wants to know if you'd agree to come back to be interviewed, perhaps for the six o'clock news tomorrow," Molly interjected.

"I'd love to, but it may not be wise for me to stick around. I am, after all, a fugitive."

Their drinks arrived.

"We can arrange discrete accommodation," Molly offered.

Roy blew the head of his beer and watched the wet foam slide down the side of his frosted glass, leaving a trail free of condensation. "Tempting. But my message has already been delivered, live. That's all I wanted."

"You must have a device. It's small, isn't it? That's what you've been up to for the last ten years – developing a portable EMP," Clarence cut in.

His words earned him a hard look. "You still don't believe me, do you?" Roy sighed. "Fair enough. Can I borrow your phone?"

Three mobile phones were instantly produced. Molly had a spare which she slapped onto Roy's open palm. He pressed the button and the screen lit up.

"I'm only going to do this one more time," Roy warned. "I'm not a clown with cheap tricks."

He held the phone in his palm. The light flickered. Then the phone died.

"Holy shit!" Molly exclaimed.

"Bloody hell," Clarence agreed.

"Do it again," Molly said.

"I just said-" Roy began, but his next words became muffled, like he was speaking underwater.

The three looked at each other and Roy glanced up at the television. Commercials were playing soundlessly, though no one had touched the settings.

He straightened. "They're here," he said, though the sound was no more than a suggestion.

Clarence started to form a question of his own, but no sound came out. He tried shouting, and even then the single syllable was barely audible. "Who?"

Roy's cheeks took on a hint of colour when he screamed back, "Disaster Squad."

It sounded no louder than a murmur and filled Clarence with dread. A glance at Molly showed that she was just as frightened.

The doors burst open and soldiers in muted black military gear filed in. With silent precision, they executed the barman and the regulars at the bar. Behind them entered a dark skinned woman, her hair hanging in damp waves to her shoulders.

A soldier's eyes locked with Clarence's. He raised his gun. Clarence froze. The soldier fired. Molly kicked Clarence's chair from under him, causing him to drop before the bullet hit. She dove after him while Roy flipped their table to provide some scant cover. It would offer no protection if the soldiers fired now.

"Wait, don't shoot," said a female voice.

"Is that you, Linyardi?" Roy piped up.

They could speak again. The TV blared.

"How many times do I have to say, it's Lily now," was the icy reply. "Are you going to come out from behind there, or are you going to be a pain the butt, Roy?"

With a weak, apologetic smile to Clarence and Molly, Roy held his hands up and stood. "You got me."

"Move aside," Lily ordered.

Roy stepped around the table, but did not move out of the line of fire. "Come on. You can't just shoot the Clarence Clementine. Not when his assistant is recording the whole thing."

"Producer," Molly seethed through gritted teeth. She fumbled with her phone. If she hadn't been recording before, she certainly was now. "I'm a producer, thank you very much."

Lily laughed. "Trust you to think that this is about you, Roy. We're not going to hurt Mr Clementine," she said with a disapproving glance at the trigger happy soldier. "He's the reason we're here."

Clarence peeked over the edge of the table, fueled by Roy's bravado. "What do you want me for?"

Even Roy looked surprised. Molly tried to tug Clarence back down, but he hung on tight.

"We want to welcome you to the Disaster Squad." Lily smiled.

"But I'm not..." the words died in Clarence's throat. He wished that he was back at the studio, searching for that EMP. He would never have found one, of course, because Roy wasn't crazy. The ones he spoke about were here. Somehow they knew.

I came to warn the people like me, the ones who are still out there. They've found a way to detect us...

Clarence choked back a sob.

"What are they on about, Clarence?" Molly asked.

"Really?" Lily asked incredulously. "None of your family or friends found it strange that the most severe weather to happen within a fifteen kilometre radius of you has been light rain? A cyclone is supposed to be destroying this little town right now, and no one questions why it's only drizzling?"

"So you're here for Clarence, not me," Roy said dumbly. "You're looking for another one that can control the weather."

"That's right. Oh, and Roy?"

"What?"

"We were instructed to shoot you on sight," Lily said without a hint of remorse. The soldier beside her raised his gun.

Roy's last act was to fling his beanie at Clarence. "Catch!"

The lights overhead exploded and the bar was plunged into darkness. Sound stopped as the soldiers emptied their weapons.

Clarence snatched the beanie from the air and pulled it over his head. Instantly, the full force of a Category 5 cyclone crashed down around them. The building was tossed like a dollhouse in a toddler's tantrum, and the people in it were like eggs during Halloween. Clarence and Molly tried to keep hold of each other, but they were ripped apart by the wind. A chair smashed into him, followed by a burst of pain, and then nothingness.

Someone grunted with effort as they lifted a weight off his chest. Clarence winced and opened his eyes to see Molly standing over him. She was half drowned and bleeding, but alive.

He sat up and touched his head. The beanie had been blown off in the storm. Around them, the town had been reduced to debris, and sirens wailed in the distance.

"Molly," he choked. His back ached, and his head pounded, but there were no obvious injuries.

The sight of a soldier's rifle sticking out nearby was a hard reminder of the dangers he now faced. In a round about way, Clarence had gotten what he wanted. He would never appear on that dreadful show again. The thought left a bitter taste.

"Molly," he tried again. "I have to go. I have to get out of here."

"I know." She sat down on a flat remnant of a table. There were many questions she could have asked. Many silent questions behind her eyes. "Where will you go?"

Clarence picked himself up and brushed off the muck. Above him, the furious clouds were receding, leaving stars in their wake.

"I think I'll head out west."

Author's Note:

This was written for the January-February Labyrinth Writing Contest. If you liked it, and want to read some great stories, head on over to the writing contest thread of the Labyrinth forum. On 25/2/15, TanteLiz will post links to all the entries, and you can vote (and I encourage you to do so!). The challenge prompt was to pick one of three lines to use as the first line of the story.

I though I'd base this story in Australia because a) I live here and b) it's a pretty cool place, but people tend to know nothing about it, other than that we have kangaroos and koalas.

Larrakeyah is a place in the Northern Territory with an army base. Arnhem Squadron is one of the squadrons based there. On their unofficial Facebook page there is indeed a picture of a man on 'croc watch'.

Linyardi is an Indigenous Australian name. Often, Indigenous Australians were given westernized names like 'Mary' or 'Kitty' as part of the attempt to assimilate them.

Heading 'out west' is an obscure, cheeky reference to a micronation called the Principality of Hutt River within the state of Western Australia.

25/02/2015 - Edits. Thank you Solemn and Emerald Viper. I have removed all traces of clown prostitution from my T rated story.

06/03/2015 - Edits. Thanks Liz. And so sorry to everyone who missed out on the clown porn. ;)