(FOOD)
Protoman didn't have any need for food. In fact it was something of a hindrance to cart around; perishables were right out, he never carried any of those.
But more often than not he'd find himself on the poor side of town -whatever town he happened to be in- and wouldn't be able to just look away. Oh he could, he supposed; he was very good at it, after all. But whenever he looked the other way he'd find some other half-starved woman or child slumped against the wall, counting the quarters in their begging cups with shaking hands and thin, drawn faces.
Protoman was distant, yes. Aloof. Possibly even cold.
Not heartless.
He had ways of getting money; sometimes he was proud of them, and other times it was necessary. He didn't steal when he didn't have to. Besides, it was astounding what some people would throw away when others were starving in the streets just a half-hour walk across town. He'd bring food sometimes, but never to the same place twice. He didn't want people recognizing him, asking for things. His anonymity was what saved him after all, and it would go flying out the window if he had half a dozen starving homeless people clambering for handouts.
He didn't stick around long either. Just long enough to leave the food and make sure it was fairly divvied out.
Women with child or with young babies got the most, along with small children. Older children got the next pick. Then teenagers, then women, then men. It was very systematic and sometimes he had to regulate, but people usually listened to you when you crushed a brick into dust with your bare hands.
He didn't know how much difference it made in the end. He never showed himself in front of those people again, but he always checked back. Sometimes people managed to pick themselves back up; usually the strong ones. The teenagers, the young adults.
The children often died.
It was one thing his siblings didn't seem to understand. Yes, Rock was saving the world valiantly. He was putting his life at risk to keep people safe from Wily. He was noble -stupid, but noble- and he was good-spirited.
But Dr. Light didn't show this side of humanity to them, so they always remained ignorant of it. The human race usually didn't care if their fellows moaned and cried with empty bellies and begging cups, and those privileged people were the one that benefited the most from Rock's endeavors.
Protoman could do his part down here. And it would be enough good will for him.
(STUPID)
Protoman wondered, not for the first time, if it was a glitch or just the fact that he knew better than everyone else.
Yes, it's good to save lives. Yes, if you see a burning building, you should do what you could to get the people out.
No. It was not a good idea to run into the fire without so much as a layout of the building in your head.
He hated to make himself obvious -first of all because his family would know that he's looking after them from a distance, and second of all because any repairs he got would have to be done by Dr. Light (depending on the severity of is wounds)- but the situation really called for it this time. So he unwound his scarf and shoved it into Roll's surprised hands before heading inside after his idiot brother.
"Stupid," he muttered darkly to himself; the sunglasses helped to dim the bright inferno, but it was still a little more than he could bear. Error messages beeped insistently until he acknowledged them and set them aside. He would have to take a few days to let self-repair mend his already weakened optics after this, damn you, you idiot brother.
The building was mostly concrete so thankfully there wasn't much to the blaze. He cautiously picked his way through until he came across the object of his ire, who was hefting up a fallen beam off of the legs of a mother clutching a baby. "Where in the world is your armor?" he demanded, his voice raised only to be heard over the roar of the fire. Not because he was angry.
"Being repaired," his brother answered back sharply, and pulled the woman up into his arms. It was a little comical; they were all built to look like children, some older and some younger, but they could lift thousands of pounds effortlessly. The woman was passed out but her baby screamed, and with a second thought the bioroid tore his civilian shirt off to toss it over the child's face.
His brother wouldn't be able to get the mother and the baby safely out on his own, and the roof was due to collapse. They'd probably survive, but the humans wouldn't.
Protoman took the baby and directed his brother to the exit, keeping the child close and both of them low so the baby wouldn't inhale any of the smoke. They made it out- barely- and the wind was cool on his face, as well as the wayward drops of water from the firemen's hoses as they doused the apartment complex as quickly as they could.
Almost as if timed, the supports gave out and with a tremendous crash the building caved in on itself, crumbling downward and flinging embers into the darkening sky. Protoman handed the baby to the paramedics and grabbed his brother's arm, dragging him into a secluded alley before anybody else could get to him. "You're an idiot," he snapped, and his brother snatched his arm from his grip to dust himself off. "This isn't what I meant by fighting for someone else."
"I don't care if that's what you meant," Bass snorted. "Since when do I take orders from you?"
("I made a mistake.")
He didn't make mistakes. He did not.
Protoman could admit that sometimes his plans didn't work out the way he'd have liked them to. He could say that his course of action wasn't in the best interest of everyone involved. He could even say that if he'd had more information or more time, he could have concocted a sounder plan.
But he didn't. Make. Mistakes.
First of all, he hated the word; a mistake implied that you acted before you were ready. That wasn't what he did; he waited. He waited, he watched and he -for lack of a better word- schemed. And he was very, very good at it. Where Rock would throw himself into situations with alarmingly reckless abandon, Protoman would sit back and analyze the problem before deciding on an appropriate course of action. Sometimes it was because he had to. He didn't have the capabilities his brothers did, after all- but no, most of the time it was because Protoman hated to be caught unaware. So he would watch and he would wait, and as per usual he was right.
Secondly, he hated the concept. People called their actions "mistakes" because they wanted to be forgiven for them without taking the blame. "I made a mistake," wasn't just about admitting weakness, it was looking for someone to tell you everything was going to be okay, and to overlook your lack of good judgment simply because you didn't mean to.
Protoman was never repentant for his actions. He did exactly what he meant to do, and he didn't really care if anyone disagreed with his decisions. It would be nice if they understood, but it wasn't required; he belonged to nobody, and he would conduct himself according to his own laws, his own beliefs and his own logic. He didn't need forgiveness, validation or anything of the sort, not from anybody.
Lastly: It was a phrase Dr. Light had used in relation to his creation.
That reason was the most personal. The one he wouldn't share with anyone.
Maybe Light had referred to using less stable parts when he'd said it. Or maybe he'd been referencing Protoman's glitched programming. Maybe he'd even meant it in relation to his poor "fathering." That because of his mistakes, Protoman left.
Protoman didn't want to hear it.
So he never used the word, least of all in reference to himself. He didn't make mistakes.
He just did things that other people didn't like.
(HATRED)
If there was one thing Protoman prided himself in, it was his poker face.
He could hide his thoughts from anybody as easily as he could perform simple arithmetic calculations at light speed. Though...the two were sort of related.
If he didn't want Rock or Roll or anyone else to know what he was thinking? They didn't. He could pass a line with the flattest tone to ever exist and they wouldn't know if it was sincerity, sarcasm or anything in between that prompted him to say it. It was a gift that he put to good use and it kept him separated from their feelings. Made it easier to look away, even if Rock was in trouble. He had to learn for himself sometimes.
But Dr. Light could read him.
And Protoman hated that.
The only time he'd ever screamed at someone -as a result of heightened emotions rather than to simply be heard- was when Dr. Light pinned him down verbally and picked him apart. It had been infuriating; moreso because at the time, he couldn't move
King had ripped him in half and there was no way he'd survive without intervention. He'd fought tooth and nail against it in the only way he knew how; by stiffening his lip and giving everyone the silent treatment and refusing to budge. It was almost comical- there he was, torso torn asunder, his lower half on a table and him refusing to lay down, gripping the sides of the workstation so tightly that the metal groaned and bent beneath his fingers. He could feel his power dropping steadily and somewhere deep that scared him, but what scared him more was offlining long enough for Dr. Light to fix what he needed to.
The doctor could do anything he wanted with Protoman unconscious, anything at all.
Roll was panicked almost to the point of shedding metaphorical tears, tugging at his arm and begging him to let Dr. Light help. He'd never felt so vulnerable before but he still locked a sharp glare onto the old man's face, jaw set. He wasn't going to be taken in. Don't you touch me. His helmet was gone and his hair was in his line of vision; the lights in the lab were dimmed because his shades had been removed sometime. His gray-blue eyes were narrowed and it was more of him than Roll had ever seen before, but even as exposed as he was he wouldn't give up. He was his own person, not Dr. Light's toy to fix. Never again.
And then Dr. Light opened his mouth and spoke.
He said things that Protoman had been thinking; about Rock. About how he would never put his hand directly in his business, but would instead guide him- set up blockades, barriers, play the antagonist if only to push him in the right direction.
About Roll; how Protoman would watch from afar. Would hack the security system to see her work. To look after her when she did her shopping, would shadow her, would make sure she made it home safely with Wily's creations on the loose.
About even Bass, how Protoman would slip in and out of Wily's security. How Dr. Light knew about that, Protoman didn't know; maybe Rock noticed something, or maybe the doctor was more on top of what Wily was doing than he let on.
But he wasn't finished. He talked about Protoman's core, his power core, and Roll was standing right there-
"Shut up!" He'd shouted.
The lab was as silent as a tomb.
Roll had jumped away, frightened. She wrung her hands in her dress, and looked from Dr. Light to Protoman.
Protoman's eyes did all the talking for him. I hate you.
Dr. Light looked tired and resigned. I know. "Please," he murmured, and touched a hand to Protoman's shoulder, ignoring how his first creation stiffened at the contact. "For their sake. Let me."
Protoman's eyes flicked to Roll, who bit her lip.
He didn't stay after Dr. Light finished, and he didn't show himself again until his brother confronted King for the last time. He didn't showed himself in front of Dr. Light, not for years...and not once did Dr. Light try to contact him.
Which was just the way he liked it.