Years ago, in a certain Sunshiney state, in a town that may translate into Rat's Mouth, my father managed a bar/restaurant. One night, the bar was held up, including customers. My dad had a gun in the register, and when the guy shot at him, my dad shot back-and was the better marksman. The guy died. My father wasn't charged, but the event haunted him for years. He never spoke to me of the incident at all, but my aunt told me of the phone calls to her, my father sobbing. He did what was right, but it was not without horrible scars. I'd rather not kill someone if it can be avoided. But that's just me.