For that is what they are, Avatars. The protagonist, the antagonist the supporting cast, the bit roles. It’s me, all of them, depending on the time of the day, what you think up, how morbid you’re feeling or how happy.
“Be cruel to your main character,” you’ve stuck in bold letters on your table, and you sure take your advice seriously. You bash me up, kill me, make me wait to die, jump over hoops, lose the woman I love, make me dress up as a woman, a child, a dog, make me crash a car, lose a fortune. You know the drift.