Never mind those cops running at you with guns drawn; something is making you want to stop and hear what this mortally wounded policeman is trying to say through heavy bloody breaths.
You lean in close. He has only moments left.
"We are all in the web of the Spider God," he gasps, expiring. You are disoriented by a sudden barrage of memory and vision. You smell copper and blood. Your knees and elbows are suddenly on fire with pain, and a strange feeling of loose, spherical freedom.