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Giant Letters With MissilesThe day started like any other, with a cliche'd traffic jam. The main route out of the city was clogged with traffic both ways: units attempting to leave were being held at the controller's toll booth, and being throttled through due to load on the freeway lines, and units trying to come in were being stopped at the same point for interrogation and inspection.Giant Letters With Missiles by $inazar
Unit 225/63/133 was, just like the rest of his track, stuck in the queue to get off the city and into the main system's freeway. This morning was somewhat unusual, since he'd been here for thirteen milliseconds and traffic hadn't moved an inch. 133 pulled up the CB radio, and tried to get any information from further ahead in the jam.
"This is Cylinder 225, Track 63, Sector 133. Anyone on Cylinder 225 see what's going on up ahead? Come back."
A crackly voice emerged from the CB:
"225/63/72 here, my 20's a hundred yards ahead of you. I can just make out the toll booths, and they look abandoned to me."
"Mm, 10-4 on that, 72. I gues