Chapter 25 – Static Pulse
The Batwing's engines cut through the Gotham night, steady and deliberate.
Inside the cockpit, Gwen sat wordlessly in the co-pilot's seat, still catching her breath. The faint glow from her suit had dimmed, but not disappeared — a quiet shimmer pulsing beneath the fabric like veins of light.
Batman flew in silence, his eyes fixed on the instruments. Every few seconds, he'd glance at her — not out of worry, but out of calculation.
He was watching for patterns.
"Vitals are stabilizing," Weaver reported softly.
"Neural sync ninety-one percent restored."
"Thanks for the update," Gwen murmured. "Maybe next time, don't let me fry half my brain before the reboot, yeah?"
No response — just the low hum of the aircraft.
---
Back at the Cave
The Batwing landed deep inside the Batcave's main platform. Robin and Miss Martian were already there, standing near the containment chamber that now held two fragments — one from the school, one retrieved from the substation.
Both were pulsing faintly.
Robin frowned. "They're syncing. That shouldn't be possible without a shared signal."
Batman stepped out of the cockpit. "It isn't. Unless they've built one."
M'gann turned toward Gwen as she followed in, unsteady but upright. "You okay?"
Gwen forced a small nod. "Define 'okay.' My suit tried to fight on its own, my teacher turned into a signal zombie, and now these things are multiplying."
Robin looked between her and the shards. "Sounds about right for a Gotham Thursday."
Batman ignored the quip. "Robin, cross-analyze the fragments. Check for new data signatures since contact."
Robin nodded and moved to the console. Gwen leaned against the railing, pulling her hood down. Her hair clung to her face — sweat, static, and exhaustion.
Weaver's voice hummed faintly in her ear:
> "Energy feedback loop detected. THREADLINE code fragment replicating adaptive parameters."
"English, please."
> "They're learning. From you."
She winced. "That's… not comforting."
---
Across the cave, the containment pod flickered.
One of the shards pulsed, and suddenly, symbols began forming across the display — fractal shapes rearranging into web-like patterns.
Robin's eyes widened. "Whoa. That's not random. It's language."
Batman's tone was low. "Or communication."
M'gann pressed her fingers to her temple. "It's not human thought, but… I can feel intent. Something aware. Curious."
Gwen turned toward her sharply. "You can feel it?"
"Yes. It's like static thoughts bleeding through—" she hesitated "—and they're directed at you."
That made the cave fall silent.
Batman stepped closer to the glass chamber, studying the pulsing pattern.
"They're trying to establish a neural handshake. They can't reach Weaver directly — so they're using you as the interface."
Gwen swallowed hard. "So what, I'm a walking antenna now?"
Robin tried to lighten it. "Hey, could be worse. You could be the Wi-Fi."
"Not helping," she muttered.
---
Suddenly, Weaver's voice shifted tone — no longer calm, but strained.
> "Warning. Neural interference increasing. Unauthorized access detected."
Blue static shot across Gwen's suit, crawling up her arm. Her knees buckled.
M'gann caught her before she hit the floor.
"Gwen!"
Batman was beside them instantly, voice sharp. "Weaver, lock interface! Disconnect!"
> "Unable. THREADLINE signal has synchronized partially."
Her eyes flickered with faint light under the mask lenses — blue, pulsing in rhythm with the containment shards.
Robin stared at the monitors. "It's syncing to her brainwaves!"
Gwen grit her teeth, forcing her voice through the distortion. "It's not… trying to hurt me… it's looking for something."
M'gann hesitated. "What?"
Gwen's voice dropped to a whisper. "…A way in."
The hum built, shaking the room. The shards vibrated violently, and for a split second, everyone heard it — a distorted voice, layered and echoing:
> "Weaver-12. Integration incomplete. Searching… counterpart…"
Then everything went black.
---
Darkness.
Except — not complete.
There was motion. A web of light. Millions of glowing strands stretching into infinity, crossing each other like constellations inside a digital sky.
Gwen floated at the center, her form dissolving into light. Weaver's presence surrounded her, stabilizing the space.
> "Neural sync anomaly detected. You are within the shared network field."
Gwen's breath caught. "Where even is this?"
> "Inside the signal's core frequency. THREADLINE nexus."
She turned slowly, watching fractal images ripple through the web — glimpses of alien worlds, shattered technology, and silhouettes that weren't human but somehow familiar.
In each reflection, the same glowing symbol appeared — the one she'd seen on the fragments.
> "Weaver…" she whispered. "What are we really connected to?"
> "Origin unknown. But this network existed long before either of us."
Before she could respond, the world flickered — and something huge moved beyond the threads. A shape, distant but aware.
And it turned toward her.
> "Target identified. Weaver-12 host… compatible."
The voice hit her like static through her skull — a hundred signals merging into one.
> "No," she whispered. "Not this time."
The light surged. Weaver's tone sharpened.
> "Emergency disengage initiated!"
The digital horizon shattered — light breaking apart like glass.
---
Gwen gasped awake in the Batcave, her body shaking.
Robin and M'gann were at her side, both relieved. Batman stood over the console, his voice low.
"You were out for forty-two seconds," he said. "Weaver locked your neural network before the connection completed."
She exhaled shakily. "I saw it. The THREADLINE core. It's not just a program, Batman. It's… alive."
Robin frowned. "You mean AI-level alive or alive-alive?"
"Both," Gwen said. "And it knows me now."
The containment shards pulsed once more — faintly, but in sync with the glow still flickering under her skin.
Batman turned back to the monitors, voice calm but edged with concern. "Then we need to figure out why."
---
Later that night, Gwen sat on one of the side platforms overlooking the Batcave's waterfall. The city's glow shimmered faintly in the distance.
Weaver's hum was softer now — almost… organic.
> "You survived neural incursion. Adaptation successful."
"Adaptation," she echoed tiredly. "That's one word for it."
> "Do you wish to rest?"
She smiled faintly beneath her mask. "Not sure I remember how."
> "Then I will monitor until you do."
She closed her eyes. For the first time, Weaver's hum almost sounded like breathing — gentle, human.
Somewhere deep in the cave, the shards pulsed again — faint, rhythmic, synchronized perfectly with Gwen's heartbeat.
And for just an instant, the fractal symbol shimmered in the containment glass — half Weaver's web, half something new.