Takedown on the Tongue

I was scanning the perimeter from the sneaker collar when a shadowy eight-legged intruder dropped fast from the shoe rack shelf above. It landed right on the laces, crawling aggressively toward my high tower. Nobody invades my station. I ripped the black spray nozzle from my chest strap, braced both boots hard against the sneaker tongue, and pulled the trigger lever with a sharp snap. A blast of stored pressurized air shot straight from the nozzle, blasting the spider clean off the laces into the deep dust under the shoe rack. Sector defended.