Chapter 23 – Residual Effects
The alarm buzzed faintly against Gwen's nightstand before she even stirred. She'd barely slept. Her body felt heavy, and her thoughts felt worse — like static had replaced the usual rhythm of her mind.
When she finally opened her eyes, morning light filtered weakly through her curtains. Gotham mornings always looked tired, like the city had fought something overnight and barely survived.
She pushed herself upright, rubbing her eyes.
> "Good morning, Gwen," Weaver's voice greeted — soft, but glitching slightly on the last syllable.
Gwen frowned. "That didn't sound right."
> "System… integrity: stable. Neural sync… at ninety— eighty-seven percent."
The flicker in tone made her stomach tighten. "Since when does stable mean dropping sync?"
No reply. Just a faint hum, like an exhale through the walls.
She sighed, forcing herself out of bed. "You and I really need a day off."
---
Breakfast at Home
The smell of coffee met her halfway down the hall. Her dad was already in uniform, sitting at the table, reading the morning paper. He looked up with that familiar half-smile when she walked in.
"Morning, kiddo. You look like you've been wrestling with equations again."
"Something like that," Gwen said, pouring cereal into a bowl.
He chuckled. "You really should get more sleep. You've got that 'three-hours-and-a-miracle' look again."
"Hey, miracles work for me."
She tried to keep her voice light, but her hand trembled a little as she lifted the spoon. Her dad noticed — of course he did — but didn't comment. Instead, he took a sip of coffee, eyes soft but unreadable.
"You sure everything's okay at school? With… the whole power outage thing?"
"Yeah," she said quickly. "Total freak accident. The lab's fine now."
He studied her for another second, then nodded. "Alright. Just don't overdo it, okay? Gotham's not exactly known for its clean air or clean secrets."
"Got it, Dad."
When he left for work, the apartment fell quiet again — except for the faint pulse under her skin. She rubbed her wrist, feeling the ghost of Weaver's hum still thrumming there.
---
Back at Gotham Academy
By the time Gwen arrived, the school was buzzing again — rumors, gossip, and exaggerated stories of what happened during the "electrical malfunction."
Some said a hacker caused it. Others swore a ghost was spotted in the old lab. Irony at its finest.
She walked the halls with her hood up, pretending not to hear. Her gaze drifted to the far wing — the lab area still taped off with hazard signs. Two men in plain suits were escorting Mr. Larson through the front doors. His eyes looked unfocused, distant.
For a moment, they locked eyes.
He paused, his lips barely moving.
> "It's still in the wires."
Then he was gone.
Gwen froze mid-step. The words replayed in her mind, warped and hollow.
> Weaver's tone sharpened. "Residual Threadline signal detected within subject. Frequency faint."
She whispered under her breath, "Then he wasn't fully disconnected…"
> "Affirmative."
---
The Flicker
Third period. Physics.
The teacher's voice blurred into background noise while Gwen stared at her notebook. The pen slipped from her fingers. Her vision blurred for a split second — then she saw it again: faint blue web-veins crawling just under the skin of her wrist.
Her pulse jumped.
> "Weaver, what the hell is happening?"
> "...signal interference... unknown source... sync fluctuation—"
The voice stuttered, overlapping itself.
> "We... are... you... not you... system adapting..."
"Stop it!" she hissed under her breath.
The sudden outburst drew a few glances from nearby students. Gwen forced a smile, grabbed her bag, and muttered an excuse about the bathroom.
In the stall mirror, she ripped back her sleeve — the glow had faded, but the veins still shimmered faintly, fading only after she focused on calming her breathing.
She pressed a hand to her forehead. "You're losing it, Gwen."
Weaver's voice returned, quiet and almost hesitant.
> "Apologies. Processing instability. Correction protocols in progress."
"Just… don't do that again."
> "Understood."
---
The Call
By afternoon, she couldn't take the silence anymore. She found an empty stairwell, sat on the steps, and pulled out her comm-link.
Robin answered immediately.
"Ghost Spider. You're not supposed to use this channel during school hours."
"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to be glowing in biology class either."
That got his attention. "What happened?"
"Weaver's glitching again. And the THREADLINE signal—it's still here, Robin. I think it's spreading through Gotham's grid."
There was static, then his voice, low and serious. "Batman's already tracking anomalies. His orders are to keep you out of it for now."
"Of course they are."
"Gwen, I'm serious. You're still recovering from last night's sync. If this thing is evolving, we need to handle it systematically."
She leaned back against the wall, staring up at the flickering light above. "You know that's not how I work."
A long pause. Then Robin sighed. "Yeah… I know."
---
Nightfall – The Substation
By night, the city's hum had changed. The usual noise of Gotham's streets carried an undertone — a vibration she could feel through her fingertips.
Weaver's guidance system pinged faintly, leading her east — to a derelict power substation near the docks. The metal fence was half-collapsed, signs hanging crookedly in the wind.
Inside, the air was thick with static.
The lights flickered in rhythmic pulses, matching the beat of her heart.
> "Signal origin: direct center," Weaver said, its tone quieter than usual. "Exercise caution."
Gwen climbed over the debris and moved toward the central chamber. In the darkness, a faint holographic shimmer pulsed above a broken console — forming the shape of a spider-web fractal, like the one from the lab.
Then it changed.
The web condensed into a humanoid outline — translucent, flickering, speaking in fragmented echoes.
> "You were chosen… because you survived. The others… failed."
Gwen froze. "Who are you?"
> "Not who… what."
The figure's voice distorted, half her own.
> "Weaver was not the first. You carry the final code."
Her heartbeat spiked. "What do you mean, final code?"
> "Integration complete… but unstable. The others wait… in the data."
Before she could move, the hologram surged, the web fractal expanding outward. A wave of blue light hit her chest like a physical blow.
> "Signal overload," Weaver screamed in her ear. "Disconnect! Disconnect now!"
Gwen dropped to her knees, clutching her head as her suit flared bright white. Blue light pulsed under her skin, crawling up her neck, across her face — like living circuitry.
The projection's last words echoed through the air:
> "The evolution begins… with you."
Then everything went black.