Chapter Text
Eva Stratt sat at her official desk, categorizing information in her official office, watching Ryland Grace's face zip across her screen on her official computer.
They were mere weeks from the launch, days since he had made his choice.
Days since she had been forced to make hers.
Her chest twists strangely, almost hurt, every time she sees his name printed in her documents, or his face in pictures and security videos.
The worst, though, is hearing his voice. In meeting recordings and rambles on Astrophage explained on his phone data.
Because every time she hears his voice she thinks of his screams echoing over her speakers. The hoarse, crackling sound of him begging and pleading for his life has haunted her since she watched him run from her office, his unassuming stature putting incredible effort into his escape.
She had watched him run. Watched them chase him. She had told them to.
She also watched him fall. Watched him disappear beneath a pile of bodies from multiple angles provided by their security cameras.
Stratt wasn't a masochist. She did what she had to for the betterment of humanity in this clusterfuck of a universal crisis. Her guilt was worth it.
Ryland Grace's life was worth it.
Still, she watched the videos. The tiny boxes on her screen that showed Grace scrambling for ground and freedom. Running for his life from people he had spent years working with. People he may have even considered his friends.
Many were no doubt fond of him, be it as a co-worker or a friendly acquaintance, but humankind must be put before all of their humanity in times like these.
Even (or especially) middle school teachers going through life without so much as a dog.
She watched the videos over and over, memorizing the agony on his pixelated face. The dart of his yellow coat cutting through the monotony of gray and black in their facilities. His voice, broken as he cried to live beneath the literal weight of the world.
Stratt doesn't catch the mistake she makes in her turmoil, alone with his yellow coat flashing in her peripheral and his last words warbling towards her ears.
She's been staring at the footage for over an hour today, the chase playing on a loop as it had in the days since it happened, Grace's bright yellow jacket a beacon in the blurs of gray buildings, black coats, and dull green grass. She stares at it for so long that it becomes the only thing she sees in her dreams anymore.
PHM_GRACE_RYLAND_9.13.23
She meant to delete it. She meant to put it behind her and focus on the mission, focus on the Astrophage, focus on putting her betrayal so far back in her mind that she could continue living with her choices.
The videos are archived onto the Hail Mary instead.
Eva Stratt will never know.