I'm one of the lucky ones. Or unlucky, depending on your point of view. I put Level 0, but probably really in "0AA".
In 2011, I had a stray, one-off bullet pass about 10-12 feet above my head and strike the window and wall above my head in Daytona Beach. So it probably passed closest to me, give or take an individual or two nearby me at the time. I don't think nor feel it was directed at me, and it could have hit any one of about ten co-workers and about twenty employees at a car dealership. It was a single round, and although we heard what sounded like a gunshot, it wasn't until someone pointed out the hole in the window that wasn't there before. That's when it got weird; it's just our first day onsite for installation and setups, but we still figured they're playing a joke on us. The police literally showed up and performed some ballistics tests. The next day, I was told to go work at their shop annex a few blocks away and was very happy do to so. But I figured that's just my brush with live ammo and fortune smiled on me, I'm clear for the rest of my life.
In January 2017, the airport terminal Fort Lauderdale that I'd literally traveled through over 150 times had a mass shooting in the Terminal 2 baggage claim area. I really started to change my mind about guns at that point; if the so-called adults in charge couldn't muster up anything to take it away from someone who was admittedly not right in the head, I started to lose a bit of hope that anyone cared anymore. Yeah, that very well could have been me waiting for my bag on the carousel, a I'm a frequent flier with Delta and that's their terminal.
My high school had a mass shooting in 2018; tragic as it was, I had graduated over 25 years earlier. But it's still eerie; and people don't think of the environmentalist for whom the school was named for but the social schizophreniform and conversational breakdown which ensues when Marjory Stoneman Douglas is brought up. Change is hard, but sometimes we must take to it as one seeks a pond when their head is on fire. But because we have no way to cohesively direct anger towards a common goal, we worry about what we may lose in the process while others grieve with genuine catastrophic loss.
In both cases, I no longer live that area anymore; I live 800 miles away. I wasn't close to any of the victims, but there's friends and acquaintances of mine that sent their kids there whom I grew up with. But I'm down there at least once a year to visit family and friends, and in the area on business at maybe once or twice a year. And dang it, FLL is usually more convenient than both PBI and MIA.
I honestly just wonder in my darker moments if my number is just going to come up and just live it up as much as I can handle in my advancing age, in whatever small way.