That's the thing; it wasn't some grand philosophical act of taking another person from their life and dreams and hopes. Way more simple than that, because you know what? The few pounds of pressure on a piece of metal taught me that I could do it again. Would do it again. I guess I'm supposed to say "under the right conditions" right about now. That's just the lie we all tell ourselves, but the truth of it is? There are no right conditions, I'd do it again just to keep breathing for another few seconds. I did do it again in the case of that Pentex goon. Shot the legs out from underneath one of his buddies for no other reason than I couldn't risk losing his ID or the body armor stopping the round. Cruel, I know, but it needed to be done. See, it wasn't the killing that showed me that; it was the breathing that let me pull the trigger. Surviving that taught me what I was capable of doing again.
See, killing is easy. It's the surviving that's so much more difficult. Surviving 700 pounds of raving, frothing death is not nearly so easy as killing it. But those hate-filled, raging eyes? I closed them all the same, because killing is something I was taught from an early age. Born into it, raised on it from my earliest youth. Must make me a monster just like them, but the stronger monster this time. Surviving showed me that. Surviving also left me with those eyes, in my dreams. Not a nightmare; there was only a single one of those.