The Catcher licked his lips and returned his attention to his apprentice, still crouched over Misa’s limp body. Door rolled her eyes, and bent down further to hoist Misa over her shoulder and onto the interview couch next to the unconcious cameraman put there by Ndege. 

“C’mon Tulane, get up.” Door gently pats her face with her glove. 

The host twitched and rolled her head, opalescent eyes bubbling with tears as she covered her wounded mouth. Her blood was no longer the black ooze it was, but a shiny thick liquid, like water with oil. Door sighed and reached into the small pouch on her shoulder strap and withdrew a purple-grey vial of liquid. 

“Calm down, it’s just a small cut, drink this, it’s a painkiller and a healing supplement.” 

Misa made eye contact with Door, wondering for a moment if she should, then swiped it and downed it, tears still streaming down her shinning scales and onto her skin. Door tilted her head for a moment and stood up. She withdrew a small notedrone from her hip satchel and turned it on, its screen ready to write down what its owner said. 

“Name: Misa Tulane. Day 5872, time 22:37. Caught parissite: Tama. Residual effects:-”

Door made a quick motion to Misa, signaling her to uncover her mouth. Misa shook her head and glared at her savior, scared to reveal her wounds around her neck and mouth. Door rolled her eyes and gave Misa a hard stare. While she enjoyed her life in the city, she always despised the vanity and standards of beauty, stiff and unmoving. Door gently slid down on the couch next to the poor girl, softening her gaze as she shooed her notedrone, Binx, away quickly. 

“There, see? Nothing will take photos, I just need to see your mouth to write a report later.”

Great, now I won’t be able to collect the fame bounty., she thought. The more famous a client, the better the payout. 

Misa’s scaled eyebrows relaxed, and she slowly drew her hands away from her face. The damage was not even as bad as Door had thought, what a drama queen. Misa’s previously smooth cheeks had been originally torn about two inches both ways, yet was down to half a inch, ever decreasing, as the health supplement took effect. Misa gave a quick weak smile, trying to feel her mouth again before she spoke.

“Thank you, I’ve been feeling that thing in my head for a week.” 

Misa teared up slightly and continued, “I tried to call for help, but it said to take more people or it would eat me from the inside.” 

Door snapped her case shut. “There are others?” 

The host nodded, not able to make eye contact with the apprentice out of her shame. “Two. They were just some fans at a meet and greet. I didn’t want to do it I just started to feel my head getting hot and I-” She hid her face in her hands, foamy tears pouring from the gaps in her fingers, releasing a smell of salted soap. Doormouse sighed and started to reach out to comfort Misa, but a clawed hand stopped her. 

“Hush, child. Do you hear that?” Mr. Ndege hissed through his beak as he indicated upwards, feathers on end in caution.

Door instantly noticed the shadow peering through the skylight above them, unaware of Ndege’s night-vision gaze. She was careful to see and not be seen, her one-way chrysalis hood making her eyes invisible to the unannounced guest. 

Like the bird she was trained by, she suddenly flew to the skylight and through it. Crystalline glass scattered around her and disappeared into the night’s shadows, along with the spy. Door landed silently on the studio roof, and began to run towards the shrouded figure which had already decided she was a threat. Suddenly, a pair of glistening knives cut through the darkness towards Door, and she leaped towards the adjacent roof, leaving the studio. Door tasted blood in her mouth. My jaw must have hit the pavement, she thought as she spat out a back tooth and continued her pursuit along the skyline. 

The young apprentice leaped across a bedazzled street below her, warm skin glowing against the passing light as she flew. In a split second, she was in the air, her mind noticed three things. The first, that her prey had a human gun pointed at her. Two was that she felt an impact hit her right hip. Three, the realization she feared most, that she was now in freefall. 

Still in the air, she twisted her body towards the sky and shot her right whip at a rose gold balcony.  Her whip ricocheted off, but her body felt the impact, wheeling her back around to face the ground. 50 meters….40 meters….20…. Doormouse closed her eyes and arched her back, doing just as she was trained to in this scenario. 

Suddenly, she was eight years old, training with Mr. Ndege outside for the first time. 

His grey feathers were still the same worn grey, but fewer wrinkles plagued his face. “Are you ready, Mouse?” Door excited at her nickname from him, jumping up and down whisper-yelling “yesyesyesyesyes.” She looked down at her small, rectangular frame and turned on the harness that wrapped around her neck to her legs. The fabric hummed to life with energy, and she looked back up at her teacher. Mr. Ndege already wore a larger harness and ushered Doormouse to the edge of the building they were on. The child looked down and smelled the crisp city wind. Notes of gasoline floated on the wind, intertwined with sweet smells of flowers and food that seemed to shimmer with the bright lights. Ndege simply walked off the side of the building, gravity halting under his foot. “Come here Mouse.” He crouched a bit and extended his arms as if coaxing an infant to take their first steps. She carefully stepped near the edge, shuffling her feet onto the invisible surface. Concentrating with everything she could muster, Doormouse ran over to her master. “Look down, but don’t be afraid, it will catch you.”

Suddenly, she was 20 again, caught in a strange, soft mass. Doormouse opened her eyes cautiously, and propped herself up on the solid cloud. Giant pink, fluffy particulates floated around her savior, though she was hardly glad to see them. Misa Tulane blushed and turned her head away in a fake scowl. “A thank you would be appreciated.”

The apprentice was hardly grateful, however. “Thank you for obstructing my pursuit.”

Misa snapped eye contact again, cloud turning red with embarrassment and anger. 

“Well, you hardly looked like you had it under control. Or would you have rather I let you become a new urban splat art?”

Tulane set down the cloud upon the marble sidewalk, making sure to be close before it dissipated. Doormouse grunted as she realized they were nowhere near the studio, or her flat.

“Can you get us back?” Door asked the show host.

Misa sighed and looked down in shame. 

“No, Im out of cloud mass. Didn’t think I’d be going far.” 

Misa glanced behind her companion and pointed at the battered caravan stop that laid behind Doormouse. Great, public transportation. And with her no less. The apprentice thought to herself with a sense of dread. 

The caravan itself arrived not long after, just barely enough time for both girls to get under the many-holed covering. The six-wheeled contraption was composed of a two-exterior that was both grey and faded navy blue. When one looks at one for the first time, the first thing that might come to mind is a melted, old-fashioned aluminum night bus.

 Misa stepped first, looking around in awe at the lower-class vehicle. Many tough scarves floated above as a brace for those who chose to stand. The seats were a dated hexagonal pattern, faded orange and green from a simpler time. Doormouse motioned for Misa to sit near the back across from a old lady holding a simple wicker basket filled with snakes. As they both sat down, the human folded forward and hid her face in her hands, mentally arming herself for the inevitable lecture she would receive momentarily. 

Right now, there was nothing Door craved more than her old yet warm loft bed in her apartment. She took deep pride in her residence, despite it being small and lacking much light. Though Ndege and various Catching jobs helped her pay it off bit by bit, she was more than grateful for her own space. Thoughts of her space teased her mind as the caravan sputtered and lurched onwards. Doormouse heard an apprehensive cough beside her and glanced at her seatmate. 

“Do you…want my help in tracking down the other two?” Misa dared to ask. 

Following a look of I-cannot-belive-you-just-asked-me-that, the human of the two responded, “No offense, bubbles, but you don’t exactly scream ‘vicious Catcher’’‘ 

The host rolled her eyes, wondering how she could entertain trillions, but not this one. 

“You need my descriptions. Plus, I am willing to pay outside of your agency.” 

That sentence sounded like a song. Trying not to act desperate, Door sat up slowly and raised an eyebrow to show false mild interest. 

“Im listening.”

“Twice your listed rate.”

“Three times. And funds for necessary equipment.”

“Done. Place of meeting?”

“Your studio, tomorrow, at midday.”

Misa held out her hand with a smile as if she just agreed on a million-viewer contract and not a borderline illegal work deal. Doormouse shifted in her seat and removed her right glove. Her scared, calloused hands embraced the host’s manicured, soft fingers. For a split second, Door worried she might crush them if she clenched too hard. She snapped her hand back and leaned to look through the caravan window. 

“This you?”

A series of sleek, quartz-pillared complexes snuck into view, making the broke down caravan seem almost comedically out of place. The quick ding announced their arrival, and Door escorted her new business partner out of the transport. 

Doing a quick survey of the street, a sudden thought came to her. “Do you want me to stay over?”

The host spun around, now a completely different shade of pink. “Excuse me?!”

Doormouse rolled her eyes, almost sick of what she had just interpreted.

“You not only have been possessed by a Tama but helped foil an attempted murder of a Catcher’s apprentice tonight, effectively placing a target on your own back. If I were to stay, I would provide,” She gestured vaguely, “extra security.” 

Tulane sighed and unlocked the door to the high rise. “Fine. Come on in.”

“Which one is your apartment?” Door asked as she looked around what seemed to be a large lobby. Misa laughed out loud, as if Doormouse had just said the joke of the century, but stopped when she saw her companion’s expression. “Oh,you were serious? This isn’t an apartment complex. I own the building, It’s my talent agency.” Door’s eyes boggled in her head as she noticed the poster of Tonight With Tulane above the dark yet sparkling receptionist's desk. Bubbles tore her eyes away and lead back to their owner, now standing in an open elevator across the foyer. 

Now it was Door’s turn to feel awkward as the elevator climbed towards the top. GIlded double-doors opened to reveal a luxurious living room with awalk-in kitchen, wall of windows overlooking the street below. Suddenly Door was greeted by a very abrupt yet soft attack. She caught the blanket thrown at her and stared at it for a moment, then back to its sender. 

“You take the couch, bathroom’s the second left door in the hall, the pressurizer is the third, and the icebox has any supplements you might need. My room is the first and only door on the loft.”

“I appreciate the hospitality, but I don't think I need sleep.”

Misa snapped her head, as if suddenly insulted. “Look in a reflector. You clearly do. Now are you going to go to bed or do I need to reconsider our de-”

Door was already on the couch, the thought of lost revenue giving away her exhaustion. 

As she listened to the footsteps walk away and saw the lights go down, she listened to the street below. Doormouse turned over on her back and stared at the ceiling, a crystal light hovering just below the marble as she thought about what she would do next. Surely Mr. Ndege would be disappointed in me if I returned empty-handed tomorrow, she thought, or if I had let loose ends be undone. Darkness began to creep into her mind, making soft olive eyelids heavy and calm. Well, that's a problem for future me. She granted herself a moment of wonder, questioning where her family must be right now. For but a moment, she imagined her fathers’ voices from the streets below. “Goodnight, Sarah.”