I have seen worlds bathed in the Makers' flames. Their denizens fading without so much as a whimper. Entire planetary systems born and raised in the time that it takes your mortal hearts to beat once. Yet all throughout, my own heart, devoid of emotion... of empathy. I... have... felt... nothing! A million, million lives wasted. Had they all held within them your tenacity? Had they all loved life as you do?

So Michael, this is where dead men come back to life. It's been nearly ten years. But you'll keep for another day or so huh, old friend? You motherfucking fuck! I grieved for you! You weren't even fucking dead. You were my best friend. Well guess who's coming to shit on your doorstep, you fuck!

It's not right to make fun of Melville's comically absurd inability to take decent pictures.
She's a hyper-advanced humanoid machine, not a photographer.

...........

That thing you burned up isn't important to me; it's the fluid catalytic cracking unit. It makes shoes for orphans... nice job breaking it, hero.