The realization that Topher is probably a better person than you are comes on the same day you condemn him for being the worst of all.
You bring up Claire Saunders, because you're fairly certain that's a sore point for him. You always know where to aim your attacks. The fight goes out of him and his eyes drop before you can read the true nature of the weakness, but it's enough to show you've successfully struck a nerve. It's a useful bit of knowledge, anything to reign in your increasingly rebellious employee.
Claire is to Topher what Roger is to you. The thought has barely passed through your mind before you decide you've either given yourself too much credit or painted Topher in too dark a light.
Your indiscretion was hand chosen, manipulated, and done with full awareness. Topher stumbled into his, a foolish boy with a romantic's heart hidden beneath all the cynicism and decay.
A boy who, given a beautiful woman and no boundaries, merely creates a companion with a love for pizza and video games. Tasked with creating a doctor, he spends three full days making sure she's a person.
There's some degree of poetry, at least, to his situation. The creature impairing his judgment is called Whiskey. You're stuck with Victor (and if he's won something, what have you lost?). You've always appreciated the more lyrical aspects of the world.
Some nights you find Topher logged into the bio-link feeds, staring at a single monitor, and you remember that, while the GPS strip was removed before Whiskey's final imprint, that particular link was never severed. Her vitals display on the screen and bathe Topher in a blue light, assuring him that somewhere in the world Claire's heart is still beating.
You only wish the network could be used to track her down and know you're a terrible person for it.