Chapter 21 – Fractures
The next morning came slow. Gotham's skies were gray again — not stormy, not clear, just heavy and tired, like the city itself hadn't slept.
Gwen Stacy pressed her head against the bus window, watching the blurred cityscape roll by. It was her first "normal" morning in a while. No training, no mission briefings, no weird signals humming through her earpiece. Just school.
Except her stomach still twisted.
Batman's words kept echoing from the night before.
"You're connected to it."
She'd barely slept after that. The phrase looped in her head like static — each time sharper, more personal. Connected how? Through Weaver? Through the lab? Through whoever built all this?
She rubbed her eyes as the bus came to a stop outside Gotham Academy. The morning chill hit her face the moment she stepped down. The school stood like a gray fortress against the overcast sky — elegant from a distance, cold up close.
She adjusted her bag, making sure the small signal tracker she'd packed was still hidden inside. A little "borrowed" Mount Justice tech. Just in case.
Weaver hummed softly in her ear — quiet enough that no one else would hear.
"Heart rate elevated. Did you consume caffeine again?"
"No, Weaver," she whispered. "Just nerves."
"Caffeine withdrawal detected. Suggest alternative stimulant."
"Try optimism," she muttered, pushing through the school gates.
Gwen moved through the hallways like she always did — hood up, earbuds in, pretending to be invisible. Gotham Academy's morning rush was loud: lockers slamming, students laughing too loud, teachers already shouting about assignments.
"Gwen!"
She turned to see Tina sprinting toward her, ponytail bouncing. Tina was a blur of energy and sarcasm — Gwen's closest friend in this city, mostly because she never asked too many questions.
"You actually came early?" Tina said, sliding up beside her. "Who are you and what did you do with the real Gwen Stacy?"
"Funny," Gwen said. "Maybe I'm just trying to be responsible."
"You said that last week and still fell asleep during history."
"In my defense, he was lecturing about tax reform."
Tina laughed, looping her arm through Gwen's. "You're hopeless. Anyway, the science fair's next week. You're still helping me, right?"
"Yeah, of course." Gwen smiled — but her mind wasn't in the hallway anymore. Weaver had started humming again, faint pulses through her wristband like a heartbeat.
"Energy trace detected," the AI said quietly. "THREADLINE frequency consistent with previous readings."
Gwen froze mid-step.
"Where?" she whispered under her breath.
"Source proximity: within one hundred meters. Signal interference high."
She forced herself to keep walking, nodding absently at Tina's chatter. But her mind was already mapping the halls — the old science wing, the computer lab that was sealed off last year.
That's where it was strongest.
By third period, the noise in her head was louder than the class around her. She was supposed to be working through equations, but all she could see were faint blue pulses flickering at the edge of her vision — Weaver's passive scan overlay.
"Signal increasing. Pattern irregular," Weaver whispered. "Like a heartbeat."
Her pen stopped moving. Her teacher looked up. "Miss Stacy? You look distracted."
"Just… headache," she said quickly. "Can I— use the bathroom?"
The teacher nodded, and Gwen was out the door before anyone could blink.
The hallways were quiet now, only the faint hum of fluorescent lights and echo of her boots against the tile. She followed the flickers — one turn, two, until she reached the old computer lab. The one the school had shut down after an electrical fire last year.
The door was still marked Do Not Enter.
"Classic horror movie setup," she muttered. "Perfect."
She glanced both ways, then slipped inside.
Dust covered everything. Old terminals, desks, chairs half-melted from the fire damage. But something was wrong — faint light flickered from beneath the floorboards near the center of the room.
Gwen crouched down, moving a broken panel aside.
A shard lay wedged in the wiring — small, metallic, webbed with glowing blue veins.
Her pulse quickened. She knew that material. That pattern.
"Weaver," she whispered. "You're seeing this, right?"
"Affirmative. Composition ninety-eight percent identical to Weaver-12 core substrate."
Her stomach sank. "Then someone's been making more of you."
"Clarification: attempting to. Structural quality inferior. Source unknown."
She turned the shard over, light flickering across her mask lenses. The energy signature was the same one that had appeared during the Mount Justice glitch.
Someone wasn't just recreating the Weaver tech — they were testing it here.
The floor creaked.
"Stacy?"
Gwen spun around fast, the shard slipping into her jacket pocket. Mr. Larson, the school's IT instructor, stood by the doorway.
"Oh! Mr. Larson. I—uh—was just looking for a charger."
He tilted his head. The blue glow from the monitors reflected faintly in his glasses. "This room's been sealed for months."
"Yeah, I know. Just figured— maybe some old cables were left?"
He stepped forward. The air shifted. His tone, calm but off somehow. "You shouldn't be in here."
Weaver's hum sharpened.
"Warning. THREADLINE pattern rising. Energy field originating— ten meters ahead."
Gwen's breath caught.
"You've gotta be kidding me…"
The light from the shard in her pocket pulsed — matching the faint glow now leaking from under Mr. Larson's sleeve.
His voice distorted mid-sentence, glitching between tones.
"You shouldn't—have—found—this—place."
Then his eyes flickered blue.
"Hostile intent confirmed," Weaver said flatly.
Gwen leapt backward just as a burst of digital light exploded from his hand, slicing through a nearby desk. Sparks rained down as she rolled behind cover.
"Okay, that's definitely not normal teacher behavior!" she yelled.
"Target classified: THREADLINE Host. Biological and synthetic signals merged."
"Great. My teacher's Wi-Fi."
He moved fast — unnaturally fast — his limbs jerking in mechanical precision. The corrupted light crawled up his neck, forming circuit-like markings across his skin.
Gwen ducked under a swipe, webbed a desk, and flung it toward him. It hit, but he didn't flinch — just kept coming.
She fired a webline to the ceiling, swung around, and kicked him square in the chest. The impact sent him crashing into a bank of dead computers — the screens burst alive, filling the room with that same fractal spider pattern she'd seen before.
He screamed, voice layered with static.
"CONNECTION… MUST… BE MAINTAINED!"
Weaver's voice cut through sharply.
"External override detected. He is not autonomous."
Gwen's jaw tightened. "Then let's disconnect him."
She fired two weblines, forming a conductive arc around him. Weaver synced instantly, sending a pulse through the web. The entire room flashed blue — and with a single deafening hum, the digital corruption shattered like glass.
Mr. Larson dropped to the floor, unconscious. The monitors blinked out one by one.
Silence.
Gwen panted, chest heaving, the glow from her suit dimming slowly.
"Signal neutralized," Weaver said softly. "But THREADLINE link remains active elsewhere."
"Yeah," Gwen muttered, kneeling beside him. "It always does."
She checked his pulse. Steady. Human. Whatever was inside him was gone. For now.
She stood, brushing dust from her jacket. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A secure message flashed across the screen — From: Batman.
"Signal detected near Gotham Academy. Secure the area. Do not engage until backup arrives."
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, about that…"
Outside, alarms started blaring — probably triggered by the surge. Sirens followed seconds later, growing louder. She looked down at Mr. Larson one more time, guilt twisting in her chest.
He'd been just a teacher. Wrong place, wrong system.
She tucked the shard deeper into her pocket, slipped through the broken window, and vanished into the alleys before the cops arrived.
The city air hit her lungs again, cool and heavy.
"You shouldn't have gone alone," Weaver said quietly.
"Yeah," Gwen said, voice shaking. "But if I didn't, who would've stopped it?"
"Unknown. But the signal… recognized you."
Gwen paused mid-step. "What do you mean, recognized?"
"THREADLINE pattern adapted to your frequency. It did not attack — it tried to merge."
She stopped walking, heart pounding. "Merge?"
"Affirmative."
She stared down at her gloved hands. For the first time, the faint veins of blue under her skin pulsed on their own — no command, no suit activation.
She whispered, "Then it's not just looking for hosts anymore… it's looking for me."