Every city has a feel, a beat, a pulse that is unique to it. That pulse isn't always immediately noticeable to a tourist or someone who's new, but to a real and true local, it's as obvious and as tangible as the nose on their face. To someone who was born and raised on the streets, like Jason, it was as ever present and as subconscious as breathing. And as he sprinted toward the edge of the roof he was on, he could feel it. He approached the edge, faster and faster, and then vaulted off. There was a quiet moment of perfect equilibrium before gravity caught up with him, and he dived.<br/><br/>Down he went, faster and faster, building up speed, rushing towards the concrete. He could feel the city's pulse match his own, and at the last moment, he pulled a string on his pack, let loose his wings from his back, and soared. His feet scuffed the top of a hotdog stand as he pulled up, reaching into the air and launching into the heart of the city. He felt free as a bird and he couldn't have asked for more.<br/><br/>"Watch it, I'm flyin' here!" Jason yelled, banking a hard left to avoid a flying bus. The thing was big and slow, a metal tube with metal legs and a bulbous air sack filled with the same gas as his backpack that let it float through the city. Even while he sounded upset, he loved the busses too. He dodged over and under another two before finding his own clear space between the sky scrappers. It was dark, as it always was on floor five, just like all the floors below it, but he didn't mind. He was used to it by now. 'Besides' he thought, 'I get to see the sun today.'<br/><br/>It only took a few minutes to make it to his destination. The bright burst of light that was Spotlight Square burst into view as he banked around the final sky scrapper into the picturesque block. The whole thing was apartment complexes only a few stories tall, mixed in between trees-- actual trees!-- and pathways. It was one of the most expensive places to live on level five, and it was where Jason was landing today.<br/><br/>The open square in the ceiling was of course constantly patrolled by WASP units, flying bio-police with a sting that would paralyze anyone that flew too close, but that wasn't a problem for Jason today. He quickly dived as soon as he made it into the square of brilliant light, landing gently on a very specific roof top. He quickly brushed off his jacket of any stray feathers, turned off his pack, folded his wings and politely knocked on the door. It was pretty common to have a doorman in this expensive of an area, and even more common on this particular square where the buildings never reached the ceiling to have one for the roof as well as the ground level. In no time, a grizzled old man with floppy beagle ears and a nose that could smell a lie from a mile away opened the door.<br/><br/>"Who is-" the old man started, before getting a good look at the black clad figure that was standing there. "Jason!" he exclaimed, "Here to see Mr. Call again, I'd expect."<br/><br/>"You always seem to know, Mr. Allmerson" Jason answered. "Just have another message from my boss for him." Jason fished a letter out of his jacket pocket and held it out to the grizzled doorman. "I'm actually in a hurry, so if you could deliver that for me, I would be appreciate it," Jason explained. The old man nodded as he took the letter. Mr. Allmerson was actually one of the residence, and got a little off his rent for being the doorman as well, which worked for everyone around. It meant he knew everyone in the building too.<br/><br/>"Of course my lad," the door man said, "It's good to see you actually doing your job for a change instead of slacking off!"  He chuckled to himself as Jason walked backwards towards the edge of the building.<br/><br/>"Why, Mr. Allmerson," Jason started, with a look of mock hurt on his face, "when ever did I give you the impression that I'm doing my job?" His mock hurt face split into a grin just before lightly hopping off the edge of the building. In a moment his pack was full, his wings were out, and he was off to another section of the city, ready to drop off another letter, pick up another package. Sure, he was technically doing his job, but he'd be damned if he wasn't having fun doing it.