Xander makes a desperate grab for your hand. The fear of you leaving is all consuming, his stomach twisted into knots so tight he fears he’ll vomit.

“Please,” he croaks. “I’m sorry. I was programmed to keep it secret, but I’m still Xander. You know me.” Because he replaced your actual best friend—the real Xander—five years ago. The real Xander had discovered a secret he shouldn’t have, so they had him killed, and built an android. They built him.

He should’ve told you this sooner.