After the phone call, i would be waiting for the murderer to reveal him or herself. I would be carefully listening to see how much noise he or she made breaking into my house, i would then gauge the professionalism of the assassin by that very simple statistic. The assassin made one large thump, as if it we're "Javier Bardem" in No Country for Old Men using that gas powered lock destroyer thing. While i heard the assassin creeping up my stairs, especially noticing that my first, seventh, and eleventh stair make uncompromisingly loud noises. I then knew it had to be a Male aged between 17 & 37, 185 pounds, very lean and wearing some kind of anti-print cover under the shoes. i barricade my door with my heavy three seat leather sofa, and grab my x40 scope lever action rifle and get prone position underneath my small wooden computer desk. By this time i had taken all necessary precautions like shutting my windows in case of a grenade be tossed in, or some kind of gas canister. I needn't lock my door as a simple kick was suffice the cheap thing, the assassin tries exactly three times to attempt entry to my simple but effective fortress, he fails. Then i hear a loud smash cracking open the door at a 45 degree angle, so the door lays horizontally across the leather sofa. He looked me straight in the eye right through my rifle lens, he bared no mask, nor a look of shock, slowly lifting his high caliber custom Dessert Eagle towards his own head. A ray of emotion hit me like a 747 hits the sea, with amazingly high levels of confusion and horror. By the time he blew the trigger Leaving the remains of his head all over my hallway, like that horrific scene in Pulp Fiction, where the gun goes off towards the backseat of the car exploding the receivers head like a balloon full of tomato soup. We both knew he had been beaten fair and square and so he died with some self dignified passion, that only me and him will ever truly understand.