My eyes are bright, my hair has come loose from its ribbon, and Stella's scarf is waving around my neck. But that's not what I see when I look at the picture. I see three unlikely friends holding hands. And Ryan, Kenny, and Melanie are standing behind us, rapt. And in the sky above us, I see a miracle.
Robots are emotionless, so they don't get upset if their buddy is killed, they don't commit crimes of rage and revenge. But. . . they see an 80-year-old grandmother in a wheelchair the same way they see a T80 tank; they're both just a series of zeros and ones.