The mask constricts your breathing, and in your flailing to remove it, you walk in front of a cement mixer, which hits you and sends you flying 100 feet down the road into a kitchen appliances store, where you land in the cultery section. With knives and spiky thingies sticking out of you, you lurch back out into the street, where a police car pulls up and asks you to halt. Your immense pain renders you unable to respond to their demands, and you are shot seventeen times.
There, I think that's good.