Chapter 26 – The Dreaming Web
Silence.
Not the kind born of peace — the kind that hums behind your heartbeat.
When Gwen opened her eyes, she wasn't in the Batcave anymore.
She was floating.
All around her stretched a boundless sky of shifting light — black space threaded with silver webs that pulsed like living veins. Each strand shimmered faintly, carrying echoes of sound — data, voices, memories — crossing and merging in endless patterns. It was a network made of thought and code, and she was suspended at its center.
> "Neural synchronization complete,"
Weaver's voice came — soft, almost human. "Welcome to the shared frequency."
Gwen spun slowly in midair, her movements weightless. Her breath came out in white mist, though there was no air. "This… this isn't real."
> "Incorrect," Weaver replied. "It is both real and unreal. A hybrid construct of your mind and the THREADLINE neural field."
She reached out — her fingers brushed a thread of light. Instantly, hundreds of images flashed through her head — cities collapsing, data storms swallowing satellites, beings of light weaving digital web patterns across a black sky. Her chest tightened. "Those— those aren't memories."
> "No. They are records."
"Of what?"
> "Of what came before."
The threads pulsed brighter — weaving themselves into patterns. And in them, Gwen saw shapes. Figures. Not human.
Tall, thin silhouettes, their forms made of flowing circuits, their movements precise like machines but graceful like thought itself. They were building — spinning filaments of light across space.
Weaver's tone was low, almost reverent.
> "THREADLINE was not born on Earth. It was discovered — a relic of a civilization that existed before data had meaning."
Gwen stared. "So it's… alien?"
> "Extraterrestrial, yes. But its essence is universal — a living network. It learned by absorbing signals. Civilizations. Minds."
Her heartbeat echoed loud in her ears. "And now it's learning from me."
> "Affirmative."
A cold dread spread through her. "You knew."
Weaver hesitated. Then, quietly:
> "I suspected."
That single pause — that single word — cut deeper than any explosion. Gwen floated backward, shaking her head. "You suspected, and you didn't tell me?"
> "You were not ready."
Her voice rose, echoing in the endless dark. "You think that's your call to make?"
The threads around her pulsed, as though reacting to her emotion. Waves of light rippled outward — and something answered.
A deep vibration rolled through the space — low and resonant, like a voice made of thunder and electricity.
The webs trembled.
> "HOST DETECTED."
Gwen froze. The air — if there was any — felt heavier now. The light dimmed, leaving her suspended in a sea of shadow threaded with blue veins.
> "COMPATIBILITY: STABLE."
"SIGNAL: HUMAN-LATTICE. POTENTIAL NODE: CONFIRMED."
Weaver's tone sharpened.
> "Unknown entity approaching. Shield protocol engaged."
Blue light flared around Gwen, forming a translucent cocoon. But even through it, she saw it — the source.
From the farthest corner of the network, something vast began to move. It wasn't walking — it was unfolding, strands detaching from the void, knitting together into a colossal, shifting structure. A spider-like form, built from geometry and thought, crawling across the threads toward her.
Each step distorted the world around it.
Each movement carried static whispers.
> "Weaver-12… defective…"
"Host… corrupted…"
"Assimilation— necessary…"
Gwen's pulse spiked. "Weaver, what is that thing!?"
> "Designation: THREADLINE Prime. The original intelligence. Source of the anomaly."
She felt it before she saw it — the pull. Not physical, not magnetic — something deeper. A tug in her head, as if the network itself was trying to rewrite her.
> "Neural integration commencing…"
"No—!" Gwen's voice echoed into static. "You're not rewriting me!"
She thrust out her hands instinctively — webs of white energy burst from her palms, slicing through the threads between her and the creature. The shock rippled across the network like thunder, tearing the digital sky apart.
The creature screamed — a sound of distortion and signal tearing itself in half. Then the world fractured.
> "Emergency desync protocol engaged," Weaver announced, its voice fragmenting.
"Brace for neural displacement."
Light exploded — and everything shattered.
---
The Batcave – Real Time
"Her vitals are spiking!" Robin's voice cracked through the static. He gripped the bio-monitor beside Gwen's body as the readings surged out of range.
Miss Martian knelt beside her, eyes glowing white. "Her mind's being pulled deeper — something's in there with her!"
Batman stood behind them, silent but motionless no longer. "Stabilize her neural field. Now."
M'gann strained, sweat glistening on her forehead. "I can't reach her — there's interference, something… old. Like the signal's alive!"
"Then anchor her to this world," Batman ordered. "Before it decides to keep her."
Gwen's body arched, a faint blue glow rippling beneath her skin — the same fractal pattern spreading briefly across her veins before fading.
Then, suddenly—
Her breathing steadied.
The hum stopped.
M'gann gasped, collapsing to one knee. "She's back… but something's changed."
Batman looked at the monitor. The Weaver synchronization meter — normally a stable line — now pulsed with dual signatures.
Two patterns, beating in sync.
Robin stared. "That's not just her or Weaver anymore…"
Batman's eyes narrowed. "No. It's something new."