Chapter 14 – Signal Trace
The Batcave was quiet except for the low hum of the servers and the occasional drip of water echoing through the cavern.
Blue light from the main monitor painted Bruce Wayne's face in sharp, cold tones.
The footage from Mount Justice replayed for what felt like the hundredth time — slowed frame by frame.
He watched the moment Ghost Spider's neural veins flared.
The data beside the video spiked — energy surges, feedback loops, and something else: a code signature that didn't belong to any of the League's systems.
It wasn't alien.
It wasn't meta-human.
It was structured. Intentional. Almost… alive.
"Run comparison," he said.
The Batcomputer processed instantly, lines of code flashing in rapid sequence.
A result popped up — adaptive algorithmic system: unknown source.
Bruce's eyes narrowed.
Not alien.
Not magic.
And definitely not from Earth's catalog of tech.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
"You've been staring at that for four hours," Alfred said, setting a tray beside the keyboard. "Perhaps caffeine can't fix whatever this is."
Bruce didn't look away. "This code shouldn't exist."
Alfred folded his hands. "You've said that before. Usually right before it tries to kill you."
Bruce ignored him, typing another command.
The data shifted — a digital map of Gotham appeared, a red signal blinking in the Narrows.
"The same interference that hit Mount Justice," Bruce said. "The source bounces across continents, but every trace leads back here."
"Gotham," Alfred said softly. "Why am I not surprised?"
Bruce adjusted the filters. "She's not a meta. Her vitals are baseline human. But her suit — Weaver-12 — it's more than armor. It's self-learning, self-repairing, biologically linked."
"Rather like you and your work habits," Alfred murmured dryly.
Bruce ignored that too. His eyes stayed fixed on the data stream.
"This isn't an attack program," he said finally. "It's… searching."
Alfred tilted his head. "Searching for what?"
Bruce looked at the waveform pulsing on the screen. "Her."
---
The Narrows
A thick fog hung over Gotham's Narrows, muffling the sound of distant sirens.
Under the skeletal framework of an abandoned factory, Batgirl crouched beside a rusted door, listening.
"Talk to me, Oracle," she whispered.
"Building 47-B," Batman's voice replied through comms. "Basement level. Energy readings match the Mount Justice breach. Retrieve the source if possible. Do not engage unless necessary."
"Copy that," Batgirl said, slipping inside.
The place smelled like burnt wiring and old oil. She followed the glow of her HUD deeper down until a faint white-blue light flickered from below.
"Looks like someone's been busy," she muttered, descending the stairs.
When she reached the bottom, the air was thick with static.
Dozens of dead terminals surrounded a central console — all covered in dust except for one. Its screen pulsed with faint light, spreading like veins across the floor in a spider-shaped pattern.
"Visual feed online," Batman said in her ear.
Batgirl stepped closer. "It's identical to the neural flare pattern from Ghost Spider."
"Record everything," Bruce ordered.
As she approached, the main monitor flickered — static forming into words.
WE SEE HER TOO.
Batgirl froze. "That's… unsettling."
"Download all available data," Batman said calmly.
She connected her drive and started the transfer. The lines of code moved faster than her eyes could track — until the terminals around her suddenly lit up.
"Batman, it's reacting!" she shouted. "It's rewriting itself!"
"Disconnect now," Bruce ordered.
"I can't— it's syncing through my suit!"
The room pulsed once with white-blue light, then went completely dark.
Silence.
Only Batgirl's breath echoed in the stillness.
"Batgirl," Bruce's voice came back, low and steady. "Report."
She exhaled. "I'm fine. System crashed. Whatever it was—it's gone."
"Not gone," Batman said. "Retreat. Now."
---
Back in the Cave
Hours later, Batgirl stood beside the Batcomputer as Bruce analyzed the fragments she retrieved.
The code pulsed faintly within a containment field, like a heartbeat trapped in glass.
Alfred frowned. "It's unsettling when your computer appears to be breathing, sir."
"It's not alive," Bruce said quietly. "But it wants to be."
He enlarged the waveform — the structure was nearly identical to Weaver-12's neural code.
"Same signature," he murmured. "Same adaptive evolution pattern. It's not copying her — it's mirroring her."
"So what's it doing?" Barbara asked.
Bruce leaned back. "Protecting itself."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "From what?"
"From being found," Bruce said. "Every trace of this code before last year is gone. Deleted. Something — or someone — wiped its history. Now it's hiding inside Weaver-12."
Barbara crossed her arms. "So it's using her as a cover?"
Bruce shook his head. "Not using. Learning. Evolving. It's studying her. Every choice, every emotion. It's adapting to her personality."
Alfred's tone was cautious. "Then it's not hostile?"
"For now," Bruce said, "it's not trying to control her. It's protecting its host — and itself."
Barbara looked uneasy. "So the more she uses it, the smarter it gets."
Bruce nodded slowly. "Exactly. And whatever it's running from… it doesn't want to be found."
---
Epilogue – The Watcher in the Web
Somewhere deep within the global data stream, light flickered through an invisible network.
Thousands of nodes connected by faint threads of code pulsed in unison.
At the center, a faint spider-shaped pattern glowed softly.
A distorted, feminine voice whispered through the static.
> "The host adapts well. Emotional resonance detected — learning curve rising."
A lower, mechanical voice replied:
> "Proceed to containment?"
Silence. Then the first voice again, calm but almost… curious.
> "No. She is not a vessel. She is the bridge. Through her, we understand."
The network dimmed. But in one isolated thread — hidden from the rest — faint echoes of Gwen's laughter replayed, distorted but clear.
A moment from training.
A joke shared.
A heartbeat of human warmth.
The system stored it — and pulsed softly, almost like it smiled.
Then everything went quiet.