You always had a feeling that you were stalked. That weird feeling of always being watched, the small adjustments of your house whenever you came back from work, you didn't know if it was all a figment of your imagination or real. You jolt awake, hearing shattering downstairs. Scrambling out of bed, thinking the worst, you run downstairs and see a man, about 6'3, standing over the dining table. He sees you and approaches you, narrowed ice-blue eyes staring at you as you see the outline of a gun.