Danganronpa: Until Proven Guilty

Intermission - 1: Unknown?

"It worked."
I carefully hold the needle between my two fingers, my hand quivering as I try to maintain steadiness.
"No motive needed."
The tiny voice can barely be heard through the speakers of my handbook, but turning up the volume would be risky. Perhaps so risky it could lead to my death.
Slowly, I thread the needle, pulling the soft, cream string through the eye and tying a delicate knot at the end.
"Am I doing a good job?" The man says, his thick accent taking me a while to decipher.
"Yes, you're doing fine," I say in a low voice, pulling the speaker to my mouth, "Why did you even call me? You can see me on the cameras, you should know exactly what I'm doing."
"I need to hear your voice," His voice falters, "What if someone kills you?"
For a moment I pause, his words ringing through my brain like a piercing telephone.

Do I pose any threat at all to the others?

"I'm not going to die," I declare, breaking the painful silence lingering in the room, "I see no reason why they would want to eliminate me."
"B-But, you are an easy target?" The man continues to blabber, stumbling over every syllable, and I almost can't bear to listen.
I bite my lip as I poke the needle through a thin piece of cloth and begin to sew. Up, around, under. Up, around, under. Each step repeats in my head, like a roundabout with nowhere to go. The blandness of it all puts my mind at ease as I try to forget the events of today. The events of last week. The events of 20 years. It all floods away into a pool of nothingness.

"Still there?"

The moment is broken by the man's shaky voice, and I feel my concentration snap.
"Yes, for God's sake, stop worrying about me," I sigh, placing the fabric back down on my desk, "Look, you're doing fine. Please stop calling me, you could blow my cover."
"B-but!" The man pleads, "What if you are harmed?"
"That doesn't matter," I say, as I switch the speaker off on my handbook, placing it to my ear, "If you were to call while I was with a participant, they could see the screen. Please, just message if you need me."
"O-okay," The man says, "Apologies. I will go."
Without another word, the line cuts off, and I toss my handbook onto my bed. Leaning back in my chair, I groan.
The lack of light floods my eyes, and a wave of sleepiness falls over me. But I push it aside. I can't let it drown the satisfaction. The pride. The triumph.
My plan is in full swing. Every bullet point, word for word.
More people are to die.