Chapter Text
When Grace graduates with his PhD and nothing more than a vague idea of getting chow mein for dinner, he's practically hand plucked by a woman who's a head shorter than him but also has the sort of aura about her that tells him he should just do whatever she says.
She introduces herself as Stratt, no first name, and he wants to at least somewhat appear cool, so he says he's Grace, no first name.
He kind of regrets it when she just raises an eyebrow at him and then tells him to follow her to her car, which isn't really a car, but one of those huge SUVs that Grace has only seen on shows like Criminal Minds and Law & Order.
“Uh, if this is you kidnapping me, I have to say I'm not really the best candidate,” Grace says as he climbs into the seat at her insistence. A burly man shuts the door behind him and the car starts rolling forward. There's a mini bar and he's sure he's sweating into the leather beneath him. “My parents are dead and I think I have 3 dollars in my checking account.”
“What's your routing number?” Stratt asks. She has her legs crossed and is tapping away on her phone. He's a little offended with how obviously bored she is.
He rattles off the number anyway, because he's sure that she'll let him go once she sees the $2.47 that's in there, but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he slides it out to see what it is.
It's his bank app telling him that the transfer of $500,000.00 to his account was approved and is available immediately.
Grace almost throws up.
“Dr. Grace, I am not here to take your mediocre money,” Stratt says, sliding her own phone away and seeming uninterested in explaining the crazy number of zeroes in his account and also the way he's choking. “I am offering you a job.”
“A job?” Grace echoes. “Good lord. Who exactly are you, lady?”
“I work for our country,” Stratt says.
“So, like… the government?”
“Of a sort.”
“Okay, what branch?”
“Yes.”
“Uh, that didn't exactly answer my question. What part of the government do you work for?”
Stratt leans back slightly. There's a glint in her eyes, and she's not smiling, but she gives off the impression that she is. It's kind of like a shark trying to grin at its prey, and Grace shivers as she speaks. “It would be more accurate to describe me as the government. But for all intents and purposes, I am simply a part of DARPA. Do you know what DARPA is?”
“A really stupid acronym?” Grace says warily.
His apprehension is now fully turning into nerves. He’s scared, and he doesn’t know why. Stratt hasn’t done anything particularly threatening, and based on her body language, she’s relaxed and doesn’t see him as anything worth subduing or fighting.
But he’s not stupid, either. He can tell that she’s got a gun strapped to the back of her waist, which he caught a glimpse of when she first led him to the car. She has her hands folded in her lap, but he can see the calluses on her fingers, and there’s a slight outline underneath the right breast of her jacket, which he concludes has to be some sort of knife.
She’s dangerous, maybe even slightly crazy, and he feels pinned to the seat, like he’s just some doll she picked up and decided to throw nails at because she’s bored.
“Close enough,” Stratt says. She’s amused. He can tell. She’s starting to smile a little; it’s just on the corners of her mouth, but it’s enough to make him want to bolt. He doesn’t, though. Only because if he does, he’ll have to roll onto the road while going 60 miles per hour, and he’s not trying to hasten his death. “It stands for the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. We focus on experimental, cutting-edge weapons technology.”
“Sure, yeah,” Grace says, mystified. “You’re, like, the real life version of the Black Widow. And you work for the real life version of SHIELD. Uh, what does that have to do with me, though?”
Stratt smiles for real this time.
He’s going to shit his pants.
“You’re exactly who I need.”
He’s kidnapped.
More or less.
Stratt keeps denying it but by definition, that’s what it is, even though eventually he just relents and stops pretending to want to go home. It’s not like there’s anything waiting for him in his crummy apartment, and then she lays the bomb on him that all his things have already been relocated, and he gapes.
“That has to be illegal,” he says.
“Dr. Grace, you should become quite used to me being above the law,” Stratt says, tapping on her phone.
“And why is that?”
She glances at him. “Do gods obey mortal obligations?”
He stares.
“I’m joking, Dr. Grace,” Stratt says. “About being a god, not about being above the law.”
“You’re very strange,” he says.
“So I’ve been told,” she says.
She takes him to a penthouse that she claims is his new place. It makes absolutely no sense; it’s at the top of a skyscraper apartment complex, and so luxurious that he’s actually anxious about sitting on the pure white couch.
He asks her how much the rent is, and then she looks genuinely confused.
“Why would I make you pay rent?” She says, completely mystified.
“That’s kind of how being a tenant works,” Grace says.
“What?” She looks surprised. “Oh, no. You are misunderstanding. You are not a tenant. You own this place.”
She hands him something. It’s a tablet, and pulled up is a very crisp-looking file that has at least 50 pages. By the time he’s scrolled all the way down, his eyes bulge out at the sight of his own signature scrawled on the line along with that day’s date.
“What the fishcake?” He blurts out. “There’s no way that - I didn’t sign this! Who - ?”
“I always had a hand in calligraphy,” Stratt says dismissively, and she sits down on an expensive looking armchair with an elegance that Grace has never once achieved in his 28 years of life. “Here. You will need this.”
She tosses something else at him, and he barely manages to catch it before it falls to the ground. It’s a badge that has his picture and his name, and it’s attached to a lanyard that’s, for some reason, decorated with little doodles of Charizard.
“Do you like it?” She asks, for some reason sounding rather pleased as he plops down into the couch across from her with disbelief. He adjusts his glasses and feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Never call me unprepared. I saw that you were rather fond of that one, though I prefer Snivy.”
She takes something out of her pocket, and it looks like a pack of cigarettes with a strawberry stamped onto it. She lights the end with a lighter and then smokes out white vapor. It’s a little too light to be real cigarette smoke, and he’s puzzled about it until he catches a whiff and he realizes it smells like slightly overcooked strawberries.
“Oh, it’s not real,” Stratt says when she notices him scrunching his nose. She taps the stick in her hand and it doesn’t crumble like a cigarette might. “I used to in college, but I decided to live past 50, so I switched. It’s the kind most actors use when on screen. Some sort of candy that they can light.”
Grace shuffles and tries not to feel guilty about the fact that he tends to smoke half a pack whenever he’s stressed. “Nevermind that. What’s this badge for? And why does it say…”
He straightens his lenses and squints at the badge again.
DEFENSE ADVANCED RESEARCH PROJECTS AGENCY
RYLAND GRACE, Ph.D
PRINCIPAL RESEARCH SCIENTIST
Office of the Director
TS/SCI
“Principal research scientist,” Grace reads off. “Office of the director… TS slash SCI? What does this all mean?”
“It’s nothing but bull,” Stratt says. She flicks the end of her strawberry cigarette, and it somehow lands perfectly in the trash can that’s against the corner of the wall. He’s a little jealous of her coordination. “I kept it vague on purpose. Your actual job is to report to me and only me. I granted you the highest access, so you do not have to answer to anyone else. If someone pushes, then let me know, and I will have them disposed.”
“Uh, and by disposed, you mean - “
“The pay is good,” Stratt says, completely ignoring his sputtering. “The amount I transferred to you on the way here is just an advance. We are not short on resources, so rest assured you will be taken care of.”
“Now hold on a minute,” Grace says, clutching the badge so tightly that the lanyard gets tangled in and around his fingers. Charizard seems to be winking at him as a result, and he wants to hurl the entire thing into the trash can like Stratt did, but far less calmly. “You can’t just dump this on me and expect me to agree! Why me? What even is the job?”
Stratt watches him. She lights another fake cigarette, and the smell of strawberries fill the air.
“I suppose I owe you that much,” Stratt says. He almost groans in relief. “Are you aware of the Umbrella Corporation?”
The sudden shift in conversation is enough to make Grace feel winded, but when he realizes that she’s not joking, he frowns and tries to dredge up anything he can recall about Umbrella.
“Yeah,” Grace says slowly. “I think so. Aren't they a pharmaceutical company? I've taken their painkillers before.”
“They are more than just a pharmaceutical company,” Stratt says. She takes the tablet again, taps something, and slides it across the coffee table towards him. “Take your time and read this.”
Grace picks it up and stares.
TOP SECRET // NOFORN
DEFENSE ADVANCED RESEARCH PROJECTS AGENCY
SPECIAL ACCESS MATERIAL
REPORT ID: DARPA/BTO-26-0831
SUBJECT: UMBRELLA CORPORATION - BIO-ORGANIC WEAPONS DEVELOPMENT
DATE: 13 AUGUST 2026
DISTRIBUTION: RESTRICTED
<<>>
EXECUTIVE ASSESSMENT
(TS) Intelligence collected between September 2025 and July 2025 indicates that Umbrella Corporation is conducting an extensive biological weapons program concealed within its pharmaceutical and biomedical research departments.
(TS) The program is newly birthed and William Birk along with his spouse, Annette Birk, are heading most of the research.
(TS) Organisms are failing to thrive. They cannot survive the crude virus William and Annette have so far developed. Available evidence suggests that the organism exhibits aggressive, violent behavior before succumbing to the ill side effects.
(TS) Additional documentation strongly suggests that Umbrella intends to eventually commercialize and sell B.O.Ws.
Grace can’t believe what he’s reading. He hurriedly swipes to another page.
T-VIRUS
(TS) The majority of identified B.O.Ws appear to depend on an engineered virus designated T-VIRUS.
(TS) DARPA has not obtained a complete viral sequence.
(TS) Evidence indicates that infection can cause neurological degradation, tissue necrosis, increased aggression, and metabolic abnormalities. Infected organisms may remain ambulatory following devastating or even fatal injuries.
(TS) No organism has survived an infection.
CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE GAP:
Transmission characteristics remain unclear.
Until transmission characteristics are established, DARPA recommends that no Umbrella biological material be transferred to a United States government facility.
<<>>
DIRECTOR’S ANNOTATION
Handwritten:
Find out who the highest bidder is.
– E.S.
“What is this,” Grace croaks.
“Keep reading,” Stratt says.
He swipes to another page.
INTERNAL CORRESPONDENCE - EXTRACT
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [REDACTED]
SUBJECT: Re: G Candidate Selection
Current screening criteria remains insufficient. Compatibility is low.
Stop sending unsuitable subjects.
Random exposure is a waste of material.
– W.B.
<<>>
DIRECTOR’S ANNOTATION
Handwritten:
Jesus christ.
Find me a rat.
– E.S.
Grace drops the tablet. It clatters to the table and makes the vase of flowers on top nearly fall off by getting too close to the edge. Stratt manages to stop it with the tip of her heel, and she slides it back into place as Grace practically yanks on his tie and nearly strangles himself while doing it.
“Understand?” Stratt says.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Grace says. His voice is too loud and he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up. He swallows back the saliva that’s pooling in his mouth, and he tosses his now wrinkled tie onto the side of the couch without a care. “What - you’re - this is ridiculous. You’re trying to tell me that Umbrella wants to make these - things? They’re a pharmaceutical company, Stratt! The amount of government regulation alone means no one can even sneeze without someone noticing. How could they try to develop these horrible - guh - these horrific programs without being in some serious hot water?”
“Here,” Stratt says. She tosses him a box, and it’s a pack of unopened cigarettes, real ones.
His hands fumble and shake as he hurriedly slides one out and digs around in his pocket for a lighter. Once the end is let, he takes in several puffs, unable to say or even do anything else.
His mind is swimming.
Umbrella is developing secre bio-organic weapons.
They’re still in the early stages, but they’re using human test subjects.
There are no survivors.
“I’m going to be sick,” he says. He grasps at his chest and his shirt wrinkles so badly so that he’s a little scared the cotton is going to rip underneath his fingers, but he can’t care, not when those foul, awful pages lie right in front of him. “How could this happen?”
“The general public is not privy to the undertakings of their government,” Stratt says, settling her cheek on her knuckles and watching as Grace hastily slides out another stick to smoke. “And we are not as powerful as you might believe. Otherwise, why would we allow Umbrella to continue its misdeeds?”
Grace chokes. “Y-You’re saying you knew? From the beginning? And you did nothing to stop it?”
“Umbrella is, in itself, a giant,” Stratt says. “It might be based in the States, but its reach is international. There are dozens of foreign countries interested in these things they call bio-organic weapons, and if, say, another government obtains the rights to such a thing, what would come of us?”
She leans forward and taps the tablet with a steely glint in her eyes. “I will not lie and say I am uninterested in their research. They are far ahead of any other in their field, and with bioweapons under our control, the United States would remain the undisputed power across the globe.”
He hiccups.
“Do you think me a monster?” She asks him. She seems genuinely interested in his answer.
“Yes,” he says hoarsely. “No, I - I don’t know. I understand that there are things the government has to do for the greater good, but this can’t be it. Using humans as experimental subjects? Recording their pain and deaths like it’s all just numbers? I - I can’t. No. This is wrong. This is all wrong, and it’s sick.”
Stratt smiles again.
It’s gentler this time, and she brushes some of her hair behind her ear. It’s a shockingly normal gesture for someone like her, and it makes her seem younger. There’s a warmth to the otherwise dark of her eyes, and she says, “excellent. I knew you were right for this.”
“Huh?” He says dumbly.
“You are right, Dr. Grace,” Stratt says, and she stands up. She slides her jacket around her shoulders so that her arm can reach out, and though she has calluses on her hands, her nails are trimmed and neat, and the watch on her wrist is programmed to have Snivy as the display. “The crimes Umbrella has committed are atrocious, but with so many wolves around me, there is only so much I can do. I need someone like you to help me.”
“But why me?” Grace says in disbelief. He keeps staring at her hand and then her face, switching between the two, like he can’t decide which confuses him more. “I’m not anything special. I literally only just graduated, and I’m not prominent even in my field.”
“That is exactly why,” Stratt says firmly. “Your life has practically prepared you to disappear. You said it yourself. Your parents are dead, you are not recognized in any professional space, and you have no personal connections that would notice you missing.”
She pauses.
“And also you look the part,” she says. “I need someone pathetic like you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Grace says in shock.
“A dog who obeys his master is far more desirable than a mutt who might bite the hand that feeds it,” Stratt says. She leans over the coffee table and uses one arm to hold herself up. She smells like lilies, and a necklace he hasn’t noticed before is dangling right before his eyes. It glints along with the small amount of teeth she shows in her predatory smile. “Umbrella would never suspect the rat to be you. So?”
She continues to hold out her hand.
He hesitates.
Then he reaches up, holds his palm across hers, and shakes once.
“Good boy,” Stratt murmurs.
“We have so much work to do.”