Chapter 1 – The Bite That Changed Everything
The rain hadn't stopped in three days. Gotham skies always looked tired, like even the clouds had given up trying.
Inside the Midtown Academy research wing, however, the weather didn't matter.
Machines hummed, screens flickered, and the air smelled faintly of metal, ozone, and burnt coffee.
Gwen Stacy adjusted her goggles and leaned over the microscope, her blonde hair tied in a messy bun that threatened to fall apart every five minutes. A blue hoodie hung off her shoulder, half-zipped, sleeves rolled up. She wasn't dressed like a scientist — more like someone who accidentally became one.
"Stacy!" a voice called from behind her. "Please tell me you didn't touch the containment dome again."
She didn't look up. "Technically? No. Spiritually? Maybe."
Dr. Curt Connors sighed from across the lab. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny," Gwen said, glancing at him with a smirk.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about "teen interns and terrible puns." Gwen only half-heard. Her focus was on the small, glass containment case glowing faintly under the lab lights. Inside, crawling with deliberate grace, was a spider unlike any she'd ever seen.
Its body shimmered in shades of silver and violet, the patterns on its back almost geometric — twelve rings circling outward like ripples on water.
On the label below, written in small bold letters, were the words:
Subject: Araneus Prototype 12 — "The Weaver."
Gwen read the info sheet again. Genetically reconstructed from pre-modern DNA. Energy-reactive silk glands. Unique neurological patterning. The spider that, according to Dr. Connors, could "redefine structural biology."
She called it "Twinkly."
He hated that name.
"So what's special about this one again?" she asked, not looking up from the glass.
Connors joined her, one arm folded, the other — a cybernetic replacement — adjusting the dome's energy field with careful precision. "This specimen was designed to simulate twelve independent silk-generation systems. Each one functions as its own 'organ.' Twelve threads, twelve purposes. If this works, we could replicate material stronger than steel but lighter than air."
"Right, right," Gwen said, nodding. "And we're sure it's not going to break out like the last one?"
"That was a lizard, Gwen."
"And it still tried to eat me!"
"Because you were holding a burrito."
She opened her mouth to argue — then sighed. "…Okay, fair."
---
Hours passed. The lab dimmed as evening rolled in, leaving only the soft hum of the machines and the quiet tapping of rain on the glass ceiling. Most of the team had gone home. Only Gwen and Connors remained, reviewing data.
At least until Connors got a call and had to step out.
"Don't touch anything," he warned before leaving.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Gwen replied.
As soon as the door shut, she poked the containment dome with a pen.
"Hey, Twinkly," she whispered. "Still glowing? You're really milking this radioactive look, huh?"
The spider didn't move. It sat perfectly still, legs poised, as if listening.
Then, all at once — the lights flickered.
Gwen frowned. "Oh, come on, not now."
She reached for the panel, checking the power supply. The hum of the energy field stuttered, then died. The containment dome's glow faded out.
The spider twitched.
"…No. Nope. Don't you dare."
The case hissed. Cracks spread across the glass.
Gwen backed away slowly, holding up her hands. "Twinkly, buddy. Let's not—"
CRACK!
The glass shattered. The spider leapt.
She gasped, stumbling backward, her shoulder hitting the desk — too late to react.
Pain shot through her wrist, sharp and burning. She yelped, slapping at it instinctively, but the spider was already gone.
The bite mark glowed — faintly golden at first, then brighter. Thin strands of light spread from her wrist up her arm, like glowing veins. Gwen fell to her knees, clutching her hand as the world tilted.
Her breath hitched. Vision blurred.
The spider — what was left of it — disintegrated into thin light that spiraled into her skin.
Then — silence.
---
When she came to, the lights were back on. The dome was empty. The air smelled faintly of ozone and burnt circuits.
Gwen blinked. Her head pounded. "Okay… not great… definitely not normal."
She stood shakily, checking her wrist. The bite was gone — no mark, no redness. Just faint silver lines under her skin, pulsing softly, like threads.
And the air felt… different.
Every hum of the machines, every drip from the leaking roof — she could hear them, feel them. Her heartbeat slowed, and yet her mind raced, sharp and clear.
"Dr. Connors?" she called. No answer.
Her phone buzzed. Peter.
> Peter: Hey, you still at the lab?
Heard thunder hit near your block. You okay?
> Gwen: Yeah… I think so.
Just got bitten by a glowing science project. Totally fine.
She deleted the message before sending it.
No one would believe her anyway.
---
That night, she barely slept. Her body felt wired, restless. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw light — thousands of glowing lines stretching into infinity.
Threads.
Vibrating. Whispering.
When she finally drifted off, the dream took over completely.
She was standing in a vast space — a web stretching beyond sight. Each strand pulsed with color: crimson, azure, emerald, violet… twelve hues in total, weaving through the dark.
The air vibrated softly, carrying whispers like wind through strings.
> "Twelve threads… Twelve paths…"
Gwen spun around. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere — smooth, echoing, almost melodic.
> "One weaver reborn… the cycle continues…"
A pulse of light rippled through the web. Gwen reached out — and the instant her fingers touched it, energy surged into her chest.
She gasped, her body glowing with those same twelve colors, her veins lighting up like living circuits.
Then she woke up — heart pounding, drenched in sweat.
For a moment, the room was quiet. Then she saw it — the faint webbing spread across her ceiling, silver and alive, glimmering in the dark.
"…You've got to be kidding me," she whispered.
The web shimmered once — and vanished into mist.
---
By morning, she'd convinced herself it was a hallucination. But when she grabbed her phone, the metal case bent slightly in her grip. She blinked, then frowned.
That wasn't normal.
Neither was catching her falling toothbrush from across the room.
Or the fact that her reflection's eyes glowed faintly when she focused too hard.
Something inside her had changed.
And whether it was science or something stranger — it wasn't done yet.