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Late at night, in a modest Manhattan apartment, Gwen sat frozen, staring at the water cup stuck to her palm. Her wide eyes shimmered with confusion and unease.
Ever since the explosion at Osborn Tower yesterday around noon, everything had changed.
Before that incident, she'd been exhausted every day from constant late-night overtime. Her mental state was poor, her body sluggish, and coffee had become her only way to stay functional. But something was different now—radically different. Since regaining consciousness after the explosion, she had felt an unprecedented surge of energy coursing through her body, like her entire physiology had been rewired.
Even her senses had undergone strange transformations. She could hear whispers from far down the hallway and detect individual people based on the scent of their sweat or perfume. The sounds and smells came rushing in all at once, overwhelming her brain and making everything feel unbearably noisy. The sensory overload left her disoriented and tense.
Unable to concentrate, she had taken the rest of the day off and gone home. But the bizarre developments hadn't stopped there.
That night, she realized her hands had developed an unnatural adhesiveness. Everyday objects—cups, pens, remote controls—kept sticking to her skin. Even more alarming was the sudden burst of strength she exhibited. She accidentally shattered mugs with a light grip, and when she tried to open the refrigerator, she nearly tore the door off its hinges.
Everything pointed to one undeniable truth: her body had changed dramatically. She had gained... superpowers.
And it terrified her.
"What's happening to me? What's wrong with my body?" she murmured, looking down at her palm, where shards of a shattered glass now lay scattered across the floor.
She tried to pry the cup off earlier, but the more she tugged, the tighter it clung—until she ripped it apart with brute force.
"Maybe I just need to calm down."
She crossed the room, turned on her stereo, and let a soft, melodic song fill the air. Closing her eyes, she allowed her body to sway gently to the rhythm. The tension slowly drained from her muscles, and to her surprise, the cup fragments on her skin began to fall away on their own.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she sat back on her bed. "Relaxing seems to help… but what's actually happening to me?"
Bits of memory flashed through her mind.
Just before the explosion, she'd been transferring an experimental organism from a petri dish when it bit the back of her hand. Everything after that moment was a blur—a blast, smoke, screams.
"That spider… it has to be the cause," she muttered, her eyes widening. "Only something like that explains the way my body's changed."
With growing urgency, Gwen walked over to the mirror, stripping off her clothes to examine herself more closely.
Her reflection left her stunned.
Her once-slim figure now bore a sculpted elegance. Her chest appeared slightly fuller, her waist more defined, and a faint outline of abs ran across her stomach. Her muscles looked lean, toned, and subtly powerful.
"Wow," she whispered. "I've never looked like this before… it's like my body's been refined."
The fear that had gripped her since yesterday began to shift—into fascination, into thrill. The changes were undeniably extraordinary. Aside from the overwhelming sensory input, she felt no discomfort. On the contrary, she felt more alive than ever.
And anyone with half a brain could tell: this wasn't a curse. It was a gift.
Excitement flared within her.
Driven by curiosity, she prepared to further test her new abilities in the safety of her room. But just as she was about to leap into action, she heard approaching footsteps.
She stiffened instantly. Judging by the cadence and pace, she recognized them right away—her father.
Panic surged. She hurriedly turned off the music, grabbed her clothes, and dressed quickly.
Moments later, a gentle knock came at the door.
"Gwen? It's late. Why are you blasting music? You'll disturb the neighbors," came her father's voice.
"Sorry, Dad. I've just been so stressed from work lately—I needed to unwind. The music's off now," she called back while tidying up.
She opened the door to reveal Chief George Stacy, standing with a furrowed brow, his expression a mix of concern and weariness.
"You've been overworking yourself, sweetheart. Look at you. You should just quit that job. Dad can support you, you know," he said, brushing a hand gently over her cheek.
"Dad, I'm an adult now. I can't always depend on you. Besides, the overtime's temporary—once the project stabilizes, things will calm down."
"You're always talking about this project… What exactly are you working on?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.
Gwen chuckled nervously. "It's top-secret stuff. I really can't talk about it. But trust me, it's nothing dangerous."
George sighed. "Alright. Just make sure you rest."
He turned to leave but paused suddenly as if recalling something.
"Oh, by the way… Yesterday afternoon, there was an incident at your company's building. A green monster on some kind of flying glider launched an attack. You know anything about that?"
Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
She hadn't told her father about the explosion—or her injury—wanting to avoid unnecessary worry. Now, faced with his question, she scrambled for a response.
Before she could answer, his walkie-talkie crackled to life.
"Chief George, urgent! Serious violent incident reported in Brooklyn. Officers requesting immediate backup!"
George's expression hardened. "Understood. I'm on my way."
He turned to Gwen apologetically. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Duty calls again."
"You're always scolding me for working overtime, but you're just as bad!" she said, crossing her arms and pouting slightly.
"I'm a police officer—you know how it is." He smirked, then moved toward the door.
Just as he reached the threshold, he stopped and turned back once more.
"Listen, Gwen… Don't go back to your company for a few days. That green monster—I think he's targeting your executives. It's not safe."
She blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Alright, I'll take your advice. My lab's gone anyway. Guess I'll treat it as a forced vacation."
George smiled, visibly relieved. "Good. Let's have lunch together tomorrow, just the two of us. It's been a while."
"Deal. I'll wait for you at home," she replied with a warm smile, flashing an OK gesture.
Suddenly, the walkie-talkie flared up again.
"Calling for backup! That guy… that guy's a monster!"
The panicked voice on the other end instantly changed the mood in the room.
George's face turned grim. Without another word, he rushed out the door.
Gwen stood in silence, her chest tight with worry. Something about that report gave her a sinking feeling.
She hesitated for only a second, then ran to her drawer, pulled out a masquerade-style mask, and slipped it over her face.
With a deep breath, she opened the window and, in one fluid motion, leapt out into the night—her body twisting mid-air as she vanished into the darkness.
She didn't fully understand what she had become.
But tonight, Gwen Stacy was no longer just a lab assistant.
She was something more.
She was officially online.
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