Three weeks had passed since Gwen's last encounter with Torque, and the city hadn't quieted down. If anything, it got louder.
Ghost Spider sightings became so frequent that news outlets began speculating about her true identity. Some claimed she was an underground hero student testing her skills. Others believed she was a rogue government experiment. The wildest theory came from a gossip blog that insisted she was a ghost possessed by an AI.
None were close. But they were all dangerous.
Gwen couldn't afford slip-ups anymore.
Her routes were tighter. Her patrols more calculated. And her suit now included two emergency self-destruct protocols—not literal bombs, but enough to convince anyone that messing with it would be catastrophic.
She still saved people.
Still answered those gut-deep spider-sense calls for help.
But now... she looked over her shoulder.
It started like any other patrol. She picked up on a minor spike in her city sensors—altered traffic signals, disrupted comms, redirected patrol routes. Something off.
She investigated.
A delivery truck overturned on the 14th Street Bridge. Civilians clustered around it. Police hadn't arrived yet.
Gwen swept in with ease, landed on the truck's side, and pulled open the jammed door. A young man inside coughed and reached for her gloved hand.
She hauled him out, then turned—
—and froze.
Ten red dots aimed at her from the surrounding rooftops.
Snipers.
Then came the sound of boots. Lattice stepped from behind a police cruiser, flanked by two agents in black armor. Torque hovered above them, arms crossed.
"Ghost Spider," Lattice said calmly. "You're under arrest."
"Funny," Gwen replied, crouched low. "I didn't think vigilantes qualified for formal arrest."
Torque dropped down hard, his impact cracking pavement. "We gave you every chance to walk away."
"No. You gave me every chance to submit. Not the same thing."
No More Games
Gwen moved first—firing twin webs at a light pole and flinging herself into the sky. A crackle of kinetic force whizzed past her as Torque gave chase.
She twisted in mid-air, fired smoke bombs down to obscure the field, then launched a decoy drone from her hip. It zipped away, flashing a mimicry of her heat signature.
Torque blinked. Gwen vanished into a building.
But they were ready.
Lattice had predicted her fallback routes. A hidden net launcher fired from a rooftop vent. It wasn't standard—it was made of reinforced carbon wire.
It hit her in mid-swing.
Gwen slammed into a billboard, wrapped tight.
The world rang in her ears. Static hissed in her comms.
A shadow passed over her. Torque landed with a sigh.
"It's over."
They dragged her to a mobile containment vehicle. Police and heroes clustered around. One tried to pull off her mask.
She jerked violently. Her voice came out sharp, modified through her suit's audio filters.
"Don't. Touch. That."
Torque raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
She chuckled darkly. "You think a tech genius goes out night after night without insurance? You remove this mask—this suit—you trigger the kill protocol."
Lattice frowned. "Kill... what?"
Gwen tilted her head. "Let's just say I made sure my little tech buddy goes boom if someone tries to crack it open. Not enough to kill anyone, of course. Just enough to erase all data... and maybe melt a few fingers."
There was a long pause.
Torque narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing."
"Am I? Wanna bet a finger?"
No one moved.
Gwen's bluff bought her time. Just enough.
Because while the heroes debated next steps, her suit's emergency override activated. A small arc of electricity surged through the net.
She kicked off the wall and rolled hard. The charge wasn't enough to knock anyone out—but it scrambled sensors.
She threw a flash pellet, webbed a power line, and ripped free. A few snipers fired stun rounds. One grazed her leg.
She winced but didn't stop.
"Seriously?! That's it?" she shouted back. "You're gonna need Stars and Stripes to put me down at this rate!"
She took off into the night, weaving through neon and haze, adrenaline blunting the sting.
Thwip—thwip—thwip!
She disappeared into the skyline again.
The heroes were left in silence.
Torque slowly picked up the busted net.
"She played us. Again."
Lattice didn't reply.
Back at Home
Gwen staggered through her bedroom window, peeled off her mask, and collapsed onto the floor.
Her leg bled from the graze. Her lungs ached. Her mind buzzed.
"Ugh! Those jerks! I save people—I save people—and this is what I get?"
She pounded the floor once, teeth clenched.
George knocked. "You okay, kiddo?"
She inhaled sharply. "Just... tripped on my chair."
"Again?"
"It's the chair's fault."
He didn't press further. She heard him shuffle away.
Gwen stared at the mask in her hands.
They were escalating.
They weren't trying to scare her anymore. They were trying to end her.
That meant she had to evolve too.
Her bluff had worked—but barely.
And if she wanted to stay ahead, she needed more than wit.
She needed a better suit. Better backups. Contingencies on contingencies.
More than that, she needed to get serious about why she was doing this.
It wasn't just adrenaline. Or identity confusion. Or even justice.
It was need.
She needed to be someone who helped when no one else would.
Even if the world hated her for it.
The news blew up.
Footage leaked of Ghost Spider caught and bluffing her way out. Blurred voice filters, eerie composure, a threat of a bomb.
The internet exploded with theories:
"She's part of a villain group! No way a kid talks like that."
"Total badass. Did you see Torque's face?"
"This is what happens when you chase off real heroes. Ghost Spider's got guts."
More support flowed in.
So did fear.
The Hero Commission doubled their efforts.
Anonymous sources whispered about offering a bounty—non-lethal capture only.
Gwen's name was everywhere.
And yet, no one knew it.
Gwen sat on a warehouse rooftop the next night, overlooking the city.
Bandaged. Frustrated. Still aching.
But still swinging.
Still helping.
The night called.
And Ghost Spider answered.