Chapter 35 : Protocol Breach - Ghost Signal
New York, Queens – Alex's POV, a month later
Night had settled over my apartment, the quiet hum of the city outside barely seeping through the blinds. I leaned back in my chair, letting my fingers hover over the edge of my cyberdeck, memories of the past month replaying in my mind.
It had taken us about a week to prepare for Gwen's debut as Spider Woman. A week of planning, building, testing, and adjusting. We'd started small. The first step had been creating a functional earpiece for her — something lightweight, discreet, and reliable — so I could guide her without her ever being distracted by bulky tech.
On my side, I had to develop a secure communication program for my cyberdeck. Encrypted channels, constantly changing keys, fail-safes to ensure no one could trace us. I even went a step further, writing an agent that could obscure her presence on the city's surveillance cameras. It was overkill in some ways, but in our line of work, overkill was just smart.
Gwen spent hours familiarizing herself with the city — memorizing alleyways, rooftops, and the flow of traffic. We talked through scenarios again and again, defining the types of situations she could safely intervene in, and those she should avoid. Every choice mattered; hesitation could mean danger, and we weren't in this to be reckless.
When the time finally came, her first nights in costume were… promising. Minor incidents, nothing too dangerous, just enough for her to get a feel for the role without risking herself or the people around her. Watching her work, even from the safety of my chair, I felt a strange mixture of pride and anxiety — she was capable, fearless even, but every corner of the city held potential danger, and I couldn't help but want to be there to manage it all.
A small smile tugged at my lips. We had managed it. For now, at least, Spider Woman's debut had been a success. And we had a foundation to build on — better strategies, improved tech, and a shared understanding of how we could operate together.
Leaning back slightly in the dim glow of my cyberdeck. Lately, my life had settled into a rhythm that was both exhausting and strangely satisfying. Days were a mix of training, coding, and family — an odd balance between the digital, the physical, and the emotional.
Mornings were mostly dedicated to improving myself. Assimilating templates, refining my skills, making sure I could use every bit of potential the system had granted me.
I had learned quickly that a template wasn't just a set of abilities; it was a mindset, a network of approaches, and it demanded constant attention if I wanted it to truly become second nature.
Afternoons often belonged to Minecraft. Even with the progress I'd made, it remained a massive undertaking. But the project was a kind of grounding — a tangible way to see progress, something I could touch and manipulate, unlike the abstract currents of power and skill constantly swirling in my mind.
Family came next. Quiet dinners, short conversations, occasional teasing from Wendy, concern from Mom — grounding moments that reminded me what I was protecting and why I pushed myself so hard.
Nightfall was when my other role came alive. Surveillance, reconnaissance, observation. Watching over the city, guiding Gwen where I could, analyzing her movements, the decisions she made, how she adapted in real time. It was thrilling in a calculated way — a controlled danger that sharpened my focus. Gwen, for her part, was relentless. Every day, she pushed herself harder, wanting to do more, to be more. And I, sitting back in the shadows, tried to keep pace with her ambition without drawing attention to myself.
Even now, as I reflected on the month since her debut, I realized our dynamic had shifted. Our conversations often centered on analysis, evaluation, how she could improve, how I could better support her. Moments of intimacy were now interlaced with strategy, planning, and the constant, unspoken understanding that we were a team.
Gwen's voice broke through my thoughts. "Anything new for Spider Woman?" she asked, leaning slightly over the edge of the bed where I had set up my cyberdeck for the night.
I shook my head, fingers idly brushing the interface. "Nothing for now. Just the usual patterns, reports from the sensors, and updates from the city grid."
She let out a soft sigh, then her tone shifted, tinged with that restless determination I knew too well. "I want to do more. Expand my field of action. Just like… Spider-Man. He doesn't limit himself. He takes the cases he wants, wherever they are."
I frowned slightly, concern knitting my brows. "Gwen… I get that, I really do. But you know I can't let you take risks like that. Not because I doubt you — you're more than capable — but because if you push yourself into situations you can't handle alone, I won't be able to help you when it matters."
Her eyes flicked up to mine, searching, almost challenging. "But Alex, sometimes I feel like I'm holding back. Like I should be able to help more people, reach more situations. I… I can't just wait for the safe calls all the time."
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "And I understand that. But the problem isn't about ability. When you go into a dangerous situation alone, there's only so much I can do from here. If something goes wrong… I can't help you
She looked away for a moment, processing, then back at me, a spark of stubbornness still burning. "So… you're saying I should limit myself?"
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head. "I'm saying we need to work smart. Extend your reach, yes, but within limits that let me actually support you. That way, you can still do more, and I can still keep you safe. That's what being a team means, Gwen."
Her gaze softened slightly, but I could still see that fire in her eyes — the part of her that refused to settle for small victories. And I knew that keeping that balance between her drive and my ability to protect her would be the ongoing challenge of the coming months.
Her gaze softened slightly, but the fire in her eyes didn't fade — if anything, it burned brighter. The part of her that refused to settle for small victories was still very much there.
She tilted her head, a small, determined smile curling at the corner of her lips. "There are other ways, you know," she said, her tone calm but resolute. "If the problem is that you can't help enough, then maybe the solution is to change that — to expand what you can do. Or…" She paused, eyes narrowing slightly with confidence. "…I could become strong enough that I don't need you to worry about me being in danger at all."
I exhaled slowly, half-impressed, half-concerned. That was Gwen — never one to back down from a challenge, even when the stakes were higher than they should be. And hearing her say it out loud only reminded me how fine the line was between courage and recklessness — and how, somehow, we were both starting to walk it together.
For a moment, silence settled between us. Then Gwen pushed herself up from her seat, adjusting her mask with a fluid motion. The faint glow from my screens caught the white and pink of her suit as she moved toward the open window.
She looked back over her shoulder, her expression softening just enough for a small smile to break through the confidence. "We'll figure it out, Alex. Together."
Before I could answer, she slipped out the window in one smooth motion, the faint thwip of her web-shooter following her into the night. I stayed there a while, watching the city lights flicker in the distance — the shadow of Spider Woman swinging between them — before turning back to my screens, the echo of her words lingering in my mind.
New York, Queens – Alex's POV, two week later
The door shut behind me with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. I tossed my bag onto the couch, running a hand through my hair as frustration simmered beneath the surface.
The screen of the TV still glowing — the headline burned into my thoughts:
"SPIDER MENACE STRIKES AGAIN — HOSTAGE SITUATION TURNED CHAOTIC BY MASKED VIGILANTES."
By Jonah J. Jameson. Of course.
I didn't even have to read the full article to know what it meant. The shaky footage playing on loop beside the headline showed it all — Spider-Man swinging through shattered windows, Spider Woman moving alongside him. Gunfire, shouting, chaos. And there she was, right in the middle of it.
Gwen.
My jaw tightened as I dropped onto the couch, the cushions barely absorbing the impact. She'd gone out without telling me. Not just for a patrol — for a hostage situation. Something we'd specifically said she should avoid.
It wasn't just the recklessness that got to me. It was the not knowing. Finding out from the damn news — from Jameson, of all people — that the girl I loved had been in a building full of armed men, one mistake away from being shot or worse.
I could still hear his voice in my head from the broadcast, self-righteous and loud:
"These masked vigilantes call themselves heroes, but what they really do is endanger lives! Who gave them the right to interfere with trained authorities?"
I clenched my fists. It wasn't even the words that made my stomach twist — it was the grain of truth buried inside them. Gwen had interfered. She'd stepped into something big, something that could've gone wrong in a hundred ways.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to steady my breathing.
She didn't even call. Not a text. Not a signal. Nothing.
The hum of the city outside filtered faintly through the window, distant and indifferent. For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like the "man in the chair" — I felt like I'd been left behind.
And underneath the anger, there was something else — a quiet, gnawing fear I didn't want to name.
Deep down, I'd always known this would happen eventually. Gwen wasn't the kind of person you could hold back — not really. She had to act, to help, to throw herself into danger if that's what saving someone meant.
And I'd told myself I could live with that. That I'd support her, trust her judgment, give her space.
But not like this.
Not finding out from the goddamn news.
Not watching some blurry footage of her risking her life while I sat here, completely out of the loop.
The anger dulled, leaving behind something colder — a hollow sting of betrayal that I couldn't quite push away. I wasn't mad that she'd acted. I was mad that she'd excluded me.
My thumb hovered over my phone for a second before I finally opened our chat. The last message between us was from that morning — something normal, light. Now, my fingers moved almost on their own as I typed, the words sharp but steady.
Alex: We need to talk. Urgently.
I stared at the message for a few seconds before hitting send.
No emojis, no explanation. Just that.
The phone screen dimmed, leaving me with my reflection — tired eyes, clenched jaw, the faint blue glow fading from my face.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Whatever excuses or explanations Gwen had, I needed to hear them from her.