Roads of Doom

You walk straight into a man wearing a ski mask over his face hiding his features, black sweatshirt and black tracksuit pants, he holds a knife and he impales you with it, drawing leaks of blood that gushes, the hilt protruding from your stomach, he twists it, then lets you stagger into a fall. He reaches into his pocket retrieving a pistol of some sort. He aims it at your skull and he pulls the trigger.