I have no idea whose rear end I slammed that half-volley into, but the sound it made bounced back and forth dozens of times between the metal floor of the zone and the ceiling covered in electrically charged wires. I'm watching the aftermath from where I fell, wearing the radiant glow of sheer surrender of a man who's done everything humanly possible.
The duo spinning like unhinged tops surged forward with the momentum of my strike. The second they plowed straight into the mob surrounding the bumper cars, it took them just two breaths to complete a full lap. I hit them with such a perfect angle—using a slight inside touch but mostly the laces—that they locked into the trajectory I wanted.
