Chapter 2 – Threads Awaken
Morning sunlight cut across Gwen's room like shards of gold, warm but sharp. She hadn't slept — not really. Her brain wouldn't let her. Every time she blinked, she saw threads of light behind her eyelids, stretching out like the world itself was made of strings.
And her body… felt wrong.
Too light. Too strong. Too aware.
When she stood, her balance was perfect — unnaturally perfect. The floor creaked under her bare feet, and she could feel the vibration through her skin. Her heartbeat was calm, but her muscles buzzed with quiet energy.
"Okay, Gwen," she muttered, pacing. "You got bit by a spider. Not a big deal. You've seen worse science accidents."
She paused. "Actually, no, you haven't."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. The memory of last night flashed again — the glowing spider, the burning pain, and that impossible dream.
It wasn't just in her head. She knew it wasn't.
---
She pulled on her jacket and slipped out the window, landing on the fire escape two floors down with surprising ease. For a second, she stared at her feet, stunned.
"…Did I just—?"
She jumped again, this time intentionally. Her body reacted like it knew what to do — twisting midair, landing perfectly balanced on the next platform. The metal barely rattled.
A grin tugged at her lips. "Okay, that was kinda awesome."
---
Down in the alley, the city was still half asleep. Garbage trucks rumbled in the distance. A faint wind carried the smell of rain and asphalt. Gwen dropped the last few feet and landed silently, crouched low.
Every sense flared alive — the hum of a neon sign, the chatter of pigeons on a ledge, even the static of a phone signal from across the street.
She could feel it all.
She straightened, breathing slow. "Alright, let's see what you can do, Twinkly's revenge."
She aimed her wrist at the brick wall — half-expecting nothing to happen — and flicked her fingers.
Thwip!
A thin strand of silver web shot out and attached to the wall. Gwen blinked.
"…No way."
She gave it a light tug — and the wall didn't move.
The web held firm, stronger than metal. She tugged harder, and her feet lifted off the ground.
She gasped, dangling midair. "Oh my god—this is insane!"
She tried to swing. Didn't end well.
"Ah—no, no, no—!"
She crashed into a dumpster, knocking the lid clean off. The noise echoed down the street, followed by a cat's startled yowl.
"Smooth," she groaned, hanging halfway upside down, tangled in her own web. "Superhero level: beginner."
She laughed anyway, breathless and wild. She couldn't help it — the rush was addictive.
---
Then the hum came again. Soft, electronic, familiar.
From the silver marks on her wrist, faint light began to pulse. Lines traced up her arm, glowing brighter, forming patterns — twelve circular symbols that moved like gears beneath her skin.
And then, a voice.
> "Good morning, Gwen Stacy."
Gwen froze. "Okay—nope. Nope, we're not doing this. I'm hearing voices now. Great."
> "You are not hallucinating," the voice replied, calm and steady, with a faint synthetic lilt. "I am A.R.A.Ñ.A. Adaptive Reactive Artificial Neural Assistant. Protocols online."
"...You're an AI? In me?"
> "Integration confirmed. You were selected as Host following Araneus Prototype 12's termination."
"I'm sorry—termination? You mean the glowing spider that bit me?"
> "Correct. Its biological essence was transferred into your neural and cellular systems. You now carry the Weaver Core. Secondary functions are… stabilizing."
Gwen blinked, trying to process. "So you're saying I have… a science spider soul in my bloodstream?"
> "Simplified, but… accurate."
She leaned against the wall, exhaling. "Okay, so what now? Do I need to, like, reboot or something?"
> "System calibration recommended. Movement test advised."
"Movement test?"
> "Run."
"What—"
> "Run, Gwen Stacy."
---
The words barely finished before adrenaline kicked in. Her muscles tensed — and she ran.
The world blurred. Her feet pounded against the pavement, faster than she thought possible. Wind whipped through her hair, buildings flashing by like streaks of color. She wasn't just fast — she was fluid, every step perfect, every landing soft.
She scaled a wall without thinking, her hands finding purchase like magnets to metal. In seconds, she was twenty feet up, crouched on a ledge overlooking the city.
Her pulse raced. Her lungs burned — but in the best way.
"Holy—how am I even doing this?!"
> "Enhanced strength, balance, and reflex pathways now operational," ARAÑA replied. "You are adapting quickly. Impressive."
"Thanks. I think."
She glanced down — and the height finally hit her.
"Oh… right. Not a fan of falling."
> "You won't fall."
"Uh, tell that to gravity."
> "Engage Thread One."
"Thread—what?"
> "Focus your wrist. Visualize a connection point."
She hesitated… then aimed her hand toward a nearby antenna. Instinct took over.
Thwip!
The web shot out clean, locking in tight.
> "Now swing."
"Are you serious?!"
> "Swing."
She swallowed hard. "If I die, I'm haunting your code."
Then she jumped.
The web stretched tight — and momentum took over. The rush of air hit her face, her stomach dropped, and for one terrifying second, she thought she'd miscalculated—
Then she swung.
Her laughter burst out before she could stop it. "Ha—yes! This is insane!"
She launched another line, and another, moving faster with each one. Her body knew what to do before she did — twisting through the air, kicking off walls, flipping effortlessly between rooftops.
For the first time in her life, Gwen Stacy wasn't falling behind. She was flying.
---
Finally, she landed on a rooftop overlooking the Gotham skyline. Her chest heaved with excitement.
"That… was… amazing."
> "Calibration complete," the AI said softly. "Host adaptation levels optimal. You are now ready for synchronization."
"Synchronization? That sounds like robot-talk for something complicated."
> "Affirmative."
"Of course it is."
The marks on her arms flared brighter, threads of light weaving across her body — silver lines dancing over her hoodie, wrapping around her limbs like flowing silk.
"What's happening?" Gwen whispered.
> "Armor generation. Unit designation: Ghost Spider. Prototype combat suit active."
The light tightened — then solidified.
Her hoodie and jeans dissolved into a sleek, form-fitting suit of white and black with faint pink web patterns tracing along the fabric. Her hood formed over her head, her mask sliding into place as if it had always been there.
Gwen looked down, breath caught in her throat.
She flexed her fingers — the gloves shimmered, responsive. Every motion felt perfect.
The AI's voice softened.
> "Gift complete. Protection and identity secured. You are now operational, Gwen Stacy."
She stared at the city lights — eyes glowing faintly beneath the mask.
A slow smile curved her lips.
"Operational, huh?" she said, stepping toward the edge. "Alright, Gotham… let's see what the new girl can do."
She leapt.
Thwip!
The web caught, the wind roared, and Gwen Stacy — the first Weaver — swung into the rising dawn, laughing all the way.