For those of you who are all like "Proto Man?! hell naw it's all about Zero!" there's this poem to satisfy you. =P
[SIZE="4"]Zero Tolerance[/SIZE]
Red Reploid standing silently
Atop the icy brow
Of mountain ridge so cold and bleak -
The wind howls ‘round him now,
And yet he flinches not for cold
Or storm or cloud or gale -
His metal feet are planted firm,
Resolved he will not fail.
His eyes are fierce; they penetrate
Like swords, and cut like knives.
Grim visage his - the look of one
Who, callous, takes men’s lives.
His hand - it grips a saber green,
The tool with which to kill;
He scans the earth for Maverick blood -
His blade must have its fill.
His maker was an evil man
Intent on dominance
Of world affairs and treasuries
With lustfulness intense.
While Wily meant this man for wrong,
His creature stands opposed -
And there is zero tolerance
For Zero’s foolish foes.
His eagle eye spots distant foes
From bitter frosty peak;
The fierceness lines his stolid face;
His hands his saber seek.
The glowing beam comes forth at length,
Gripped firm by steel hand,
And roving eyes seek out a path
To yonder evil band.
A dash, a leap - through space he hurls
Determined, on his way
To halt the Reploids in their tracks,
Intent upon his prey.
His fighting flows with balance swift;
He misses not a strike;
And Reploids fall as with his blade
He ruins all alike.
This man - he knows not of his past,
Nor of his maker grim,
But he cares not to know these things -
They matter not to him.
He knows the right, he knows the wrong;
His eyes to past are closed -
And there is zero tolerance
For Zero’s foolish foes.
He strides ahead into the wind;
His hair streams out behind,
The saber dangles in his grasp,
His eyes are less than kind.
He leaves his foes’ still-smoking shells
To languish in the cold,
And strikes across the barren plain
With movement sure and bold;
A piercing glance sweeps distant haze
In searching tireless:
He knows the enemy is near -
He hunts in quietness.
Where Mavericks lurk, there lurks this man,
Determined them to slay;
With sword and dreadful bitterness
He lets them have his way.
Dread Sigma’s fortress looms ahead,
But this man, undeterred,
Moves forward into danger’s jaws,
His sense of justice stirred.
The Mavericks atop the wall
Rain fire on his head;
The gun emplacements pour their shot;
The cannons add their lead;
Yet through the storm of screaming shells
He dashes toward the gate
Emblazoned with the Sigma sign -
Epitome of hate.
With saber swift he hacks the gate;
The blast flame blossoms bright,
And through the clearing smoke he stalks,
His foe to find and fight.
The inner force that drives this man
Is bitter irony;
The very one he seeks to slay
Controls his purity.
But if he knew, he would not care;
Lord Sigma now must go -
For there is zero tolerance
For Zero’s foolish foes.
A clash of swords, a dance of sparks
As Sigma battles back
Against the raging melee stream
Of saber slash attacks.
Both flowing hair and flapping cape
Weave back and forth in time
To rhythmic strokes of dual blades
And streaks of sweat and grime.
The hero slices strong and swift
And catches him at last;
His saber slips past Sigma’s guard
And stabs the Maverick fast.
As Reploid red impales his foe
Upon his saber green,
He feels something die inside
His Repliroid machine.
This man has slain his power source,
The Sigma Virus dread,
And now lies dying with his foe,
Yet sees his foe not dead.
Though faint he aims his buster arm;
The consequence he knows -
But there is zero tolerance
For Zero’s foolish foes.