"...But I'm the protagonist."
The machete, bloodied with the slightest mark of red at the tip, is still in her off-hand. She stays locked in position, staring at the floor. Maybe the thinnest laugh on her lips, because Narrators don't laugh, they just remark on things, maybe emotionally, but their voice is all they've got. Who ever heard of something typed out, italicized, 'ha ha ha'?
"No. You're not. You're not! And neither is Kiku or Katsumi or Rinta or me or anybody. It's not about protagonists. This isn't a story. No one needs grand, sweeping motivations for everything they do. Sometimes they just do, or they don't. But people are still allowed to want stupid things. And no matter what you did or are gonna do, and no matter what's gonna happen to them all if she doesn't do a thing and push the plot along and dedicate her life to making everyone else get out of here--or something stupid like that--she wants to live. I. Want you. To live."
She drops the machete, turns, and leaves the room. No more parting comments. By the time the rattle has finished sounding through the room, she's gone.
