Why I should never try to write fiction.
According to my googling, the first Garry's Mod fanfic.

There was the brief flash and a sound of arcing electricity, and Michael-Ita-475 felt the change in the air as he arrived.
The radio-linked computer had done its job well, jumping the car into an empty bay. For a moment he felt the lurch as the hoverballs adjusted before the vehicle settled into its gradual descent. Jumping was not the most pleasant way to travel, and could be disastrous if not performed correctly, but few other means of travel could go from the drive of his alpine home to the outskirts of New York in an instant - and none of those were available to the likes of him, even with his private Energy generator.
Jumping could get one only so far. Within the city itself jump-drive operation was jammed. Too powerful a technology to permit - a jump could take a contraption anywhere without jammers, even inside a person's home or the middle of a factory. The arrival bays were placed just a hundred meters outside of the jamming perimeter - from here travel was on foot, on wheel or by air.
Michael's car was a non-flying drive. As well as the remote-set jump module beneath his seat it bore a set of wheels – it’s hoverballs only for cushioning the landing after a jump. Most commuters opted now for gyropod vehicles, flying through the air to their destination, but Michael had his car since before the gyropods had become available. Many times he has rezed a new one, each identical in every way to the last. It worked. He wasn't going to learn to pilot a whole new class of craft.
The dashboard lights changed from red to green as the jump computer relinquished its control. Michael knew much of that - he was one of the team who designed it. The thousands of wire modules, tens of thousands of gates filled a warehouse, and it was there he was heading today to supervise the installation of the latest extension. It took perfect timing to coordinate the jumping of a whole city of commuters and ensure they didn’t collide.
He took a moment to stretch and feel the warmer air before placing a hand on the controls and hitting the forward buttons. The car shuddered forwards with the feel of solid Props moving together. Precise, frictionless, yet never quite steady. The road ahead was clear, the sky a swarm of fly-by-wire gyropods darting around each other and towards the city spires. Further up he could see the shapes of ships drifting through the air - some sparkling with lights, some dull, and more than a few carrying the advertisements of their owners.
The journey was broken in an instant - the flash, the zap, and a flurry of props. For a moment Michael thought the car had jammed and fragmented, or even crashed completely - but the props weren’t his. Material-tooled a garish neon green, fragments blurred into a storm of shapes.
He panicked, and bailed. Landing on the hard road surface he rolled from the wreck just as it screeched to a halt. From here he could see what had happened - and knew in an instant what has happened. Confusion soon gave way to anger.
"What the hell are you doing!" He shouted at the wreck's other occupants. They looked to be in their late teenage years, sporting dyed mohawks no less garish than the vehicle they had crashed. Not crashed - jumped. Right on top of him. Manual jumping within city limits was banned for just this reason. Trying to save the cost of a jump-computer link. Dangerous to everyone around.
The other drivers ignored him. The intruding car was half-vertical, its back half stabbed through the passenger seat of his own. Unaligned jump, they didn't compensate for the curvature of the planet. Idiots. Worse still, they were laughing at him. They had ruined his car, and they were laughing.
Of a sudden the two cars started to jet cold flames and skid, the crashed hoodlums struggling to get airborne. Fused together in a tangle of props the wreckage took off just as Michael ducked. Sparks fell and the sound of tearing welds filled the air -
And it ended. With the same abruptness as it began the offenders jumped, leaving nothing but the sound of Michael's car hitting the ground and then the background sound of the city outskirts. He opened his mouth to shout at them, but realised it was too late. They had already escaped. Manual jump in, manual jump out. Probably just hit another arrival bay – they can’t have gone far on the car’s own cell.
He examined the car. The back wheels lay twisted out almost horizontal, the frame a tangle of props still sparking in places and emitting the sound of props grinding on props. He didn't need to try to fix it to know it was ruined.
He stared at the vehicle, thought the command to delete it, and it was gone.
It would be a half-hour on foot to get to the jump computer building. He couldn't rez a new vehicle on a public road without ownership, nor on any of the private buildings adjoining. For a moment he thought of prop-surfing - but extreme sports were for the young. He'd be more likely to kill himself hitting a wall and wake up at home again with a pounding headache. Should have kept the car to rez a new one from.
Public transport? Reliable, but notoriously uncomfortable. He'd ridden a harvester once, and had no intention of repeating the experience.
Michael-Ita-475 shrugged, and started walking. Mingebags were a fact of life. It could not be helped.
Maybe he'd build himself a gyro-car after all.