Chapter 5 — The Bat's Shadow
Gotham never really slept — it just muttered in its sleep.
Rain had stopped sometime after midnight, leaving the streets slick and humming with neon reflection. Gwen sat on the edge of her apartment's window frame, hood up, eyes on the skyline. Below, the city moved like a machine — every gear grinding, every light flickering, every scream swallowed by distance.
"Weaver," she whispered, "what's the update on that Oscorp tech Batman recovered?"
"Encrypted data suggests an experimental weapons division leaking prototypes into Gotham's underworld. Keyword correlation: 'Project Arachnid.'"
She frowned. "Arachnid? Like—"
"Yes. Like you."
Gwen sighed, rubbing her temples. She was tired — not the sleepy kind, but the heavy kind that settled in the bones. School. Patrols. Hiding her secret from Peter. And now, the fact that someone might've planned her mutation?
"Maybe this city really is cursed," she muttered.
Weaver pulsed faintly. "Statistically, Gotham ranks second in urban criminal density. 'Cursed' is an acceptable substitute."
"Not helping."
---
Morning at Gotham High was the usual chaos — books slamming, teachers yelling, and Peter nearly tripping over his own backpack. Gwen slid into her seat just before the bell.
"You good?" Peter asked, leaning over. "You look like you wrestled a tornado."
"Something like that," she said with a tired smile. "You?"
He grinned. "Still working on the robotics project. Maybe one day we'll make something that saves the city."
Gwen laughed softly. If only you knew.
But her smile faded when she saw the news headline flashing on a student's phone:
> "GCPD still investigating mysterious vigilante — 'White Phantom'."
Her stomach tightened.
She hadn't even been in Gotham six months, and already she was on every security feed in the city.
---
Meanwhile — Batcave.
The holographic replay of the previous night's battle glowed in the air. Bruce stood motionless, eyes tracing every frame. The Phantom's acrobatics were flawless — her reflexes, preemptive. Not human-level. Not trained — instinctive.
"She didn't kill," he said finally.
Alfred raised a brow. "That's the part you find reassuring, I take it?"
"It means she's learning restraint," Bruce said. "But power like that... if it spreads unchecked…"
He tapped the console. A heat-map projection of Gotham appeared, showing sightings, energy traces, and encrypted Oscorp transmissions.
"Run facial cross-match on all Gotham High students," he ordered. "She's young. Unpolished. Still finding her rhythm."
Alfred sighed. "I'll prepare the tea, then. It'll be a long night."
---
That night, Gwen was out again.
The city's rhythm called her — sirens, smoke, danger. And despite Weaver's warnings, she wanted to answer.
"Multiple hostiles near Robinson Park," Weaver said. "Tech readings: identical to Oscorp shock emitters. Shall I alert—"
"No," Gwen cut in. "Let's see what they're packing."
She dropped into the park silently, landing on a streetlight like a shadow come alive. Below, three men in armored suits were unloading something from a crate — glowing vials of blue liquid that hissed faintly when exposed to air.
"Gotta be Oscorp," she whispered. "That or some really bad energy drinks."
One of the men turned — too fast. His mask glowed red.
"Target spotted!"
Gwen fired a webline, swung through the air, and kicked him square in the chest. He flew backward into a tree. The second one tried to aim a blaster — she twisted midair, webbed the gun, and yanked it free. Her reflexes surged — too fast even for her to follow — as she flipped and launched a venom-charged thread that overloaded the blaster midair.
The explosion threw her into a bush.
"Ow. Ow. Okay, not my best landing," she muttered, pushing herself up.
Weaver's voice buzzed in her ear. "Enhanced speed and pattern recognition are accelerating. You're adapting at 12% faster than previous estimates."
"Yeah, feels great," she said dryly, ducking another blast.
Her eyes flickered blue for a second — spider sense amplified, mapping every movement around her like ripples in water.
Time slowed.
She moved without thought — a blur of precision and instinct. Webs. Kicks. Silence.
Thirty seconds later, the park was quiet.
Gwen exhaled, heart pounding. "You get all that, Weaver?"
"Already uploading. However, there is something you should know…"
Weaver's voice paused.
"What is it?" Gwen asked.
"Someone else is watching."
She turned, body tensing — but there was no one. Just shadows.
A faint rustle. A quiet, calculated movement.
Her senses screamed.
Then — nothing.
---
Up in the rooftops, Batman knelt, watching through thermal vision. The girl's moves were sharp — too sharp for a beginner. Her energy readings were stabilizing. She was learning control faster than expected.
"Impressive," he murmured.
Robin's voice crackled in his earpiece. "You've been tracking her for days. Why not just approach?"
"She's not ready," Bruce said. "And neither are we."
He closed the visor. "But she will be. I want her watched. Quietly. If she's clean, we'll extend an invitation."
"To the new team?"
"To our team," Batman said, fading back into the dark.
---
Later, in her room, Gwen stared at her reflection. Her hoodie was torn. Hands bruised. Eyes tired.
She touched the mask beside her bed — the one Weaver had modified to adapt to her energy, turning it sleek, white, and iridescent.
"Why do I keep doing this?" she whispered.
Weaver's voice was soft. "Because you believe you can make a difference."
She smiled faintly. "You sound like someone who's seen too many hero movies."
"I've seen you," Weaver replied.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Peter:
> "Hey, you okay? You missed study group again."
She typed back a quick reply. "Yeah, just tired. Big test tomorrow."
As she hit send, the window flickered — the faint reflection of the Bat-Signal glowing above the clouds. Gwen turned toward it, her hand brushing the mask.
Something inside her whispered.
Not yet a hero.
Not yet part of the League.
But soon — very soon — the world would know the name Ghost Spider.
And in the darkness of Gotham, Batman watched and waited.