What do you know about my life? Nothing.
Murder is wrong. Always has been. Always will be. And no amount of bullshit can make it right.
If I lived in a mansion, it wouldn’t make it right for them to murder the patients. If I lived under a sewer grate, it wouldn’t make it right for them to murder the patients. It doesn’t matter how many storms I’ve lived through, or how many storms I’ve avoided by evacuating, murder is always wrong.