The second class was English. Mrs. Winterhalter stood at the podium, explaining the symbolism of "The Great Gatsby" in that soporific, monotonous tone. Sunlight spilled lazily through the window, cutting a bright strip of light across the blackboard. Chalk dust floated in the light like snow that would never land.
Gwen rested her chin in her hand, staring blankly at her textbook, her mind long since drifted off to the clouds.
Peter liked Mary Jane.
This realization didn't feel like much at breakfast, but now it was like a small stone in her shoe, popping up every now and then to poke her. She recalled the look in Peter's eyes when he watched Mary Jane this morning—that cautious, slightly insecure, yet undisguisable look of infatuation. A young person's crush is like words written on their face, impossible to wipe away.
And what about her?
She was the childhood friend. The girl next door who grew up with him. The kind of relationship where, after saying "Thanks for your help," it was only natural to reply with "It's nothing."
Gwen sighed inwardly.
That said, what exactly was going on with this World? She tried to piece together the information she knew—Peter liked Mary Jane, a setup that felt like the Tobey Maguire version of "Spider-Man." But in that version, Mary Jane didn't form a band; she was just an ordinary girl working at a restaurant. Yet, the Mary Jane here was not only the lead singer of a band but also the leader, with a more lively and confident personality.
The Garfield version of Gwen did date Peter, but there was no Mary Jane character in that version at all. As for the Tom Holland version—
Gwen rubbed her temples.
The Marvel Universe was too complicated. She didn't know if there was a S.H.I.E.L.D., a Tony Stark, or an Avengers in this World. Would a wormhole suddenly appear over New York? Would an old man on the street suddenly stand up and claim to be a HYDRA sleeper agent?
"Gwen."
Mrs. Winterhalter's voice was like a small hammer, shattering Gwen's wandering thoughts.
"You answer this question."
Gwen snapped her head up, her mind blank. She hadn't even heard what the question was.
The classroom was silent for two seconds. Someone was snickering. Mary Jane turned around from the front row and mouthed something, but Gwen couldn't understand it at all.
Just then, her back was gently poked by something.
Gwen tilted her head slightly and caught a glimpse of Peter in the back row, his head down, textbook held vertically in front of him, his pen pointing in a certain direction.
Gwen followed that direction—a line of words was written on the blackboard: "Why does Gatsby always gaze at the green light on the other shore?"
"Uh..." Gwen cleared her throat. "The green light represents his longing for Daisy, the dream he can never reach. His gazing at the green light is actually him gazing at an impossible past."
Mrs. Winterhalter raised an eyebrow, her expression softening slightly. "The answer is correct. However, Gwen—"
She paused, her gaze shooting out over her glasses.
"Don't let your mind wander in class."
"Yes..."
Gwen lowered her head, her face heating up slightly.
Behind her came a very faint "pfft" sound, like someone suppressing laughter. Gwen knew it was Peter without having to turn around.
The bell rang, and Mrs. Winterhalter packed up her notes and left the classroom, her high heels clicking "clack, clack, clack." Gwen slumped over her desk like a wilted plant.
"Hey."
Peter's voice came from above. Gwen looked up to see him standing by her desk, holding a thick science magazine.
"Thanks for earlier," Gwen said.
"It's nothing, we're childhood friends," Peter replied, returning the words Gwen had said that morning, a smile so faint it was almost imperceptible hanging on the corner of his mouth. Gwen was stunned for a moment, then she smiled too.
"Gwen!" Mary Jane ran over from the front row and pulled her up. "Let's go to the music room. We're going to try out the new song Glory wrote today!"
"Huh? Now?"
"It's lunch break, perfect!" Mary Jane dragged her out without giving her a choice. At the door, she turned back and waved at Peter. "Peter, do you want to come listen?"
Peter shook his head and waved the magazine in his hand. "I'm going to the library to look up some information."
"Alright, next time!"
The two girls disappeared at the doorway. Peter stood there for a while, then lowered his head and walked in the opposite direction, clutching his magazine.
The library was on the third floor, and Peter, out of habit, found a seat by the window. Sunlight shone through the glass onto the table. He spread out the magazine, but found he couldn't focus at all.
What kept appearing in his mind was the look in Gwen's eyes when she turned back to look at him earlier.
It was strange.
Gwen seemed different today compared to before. He couldn't say exactly where, but it was just—she seemed more real? Or rather, more like... a living, breathing person?
Even though they were neighbors and had grown up together, Gwen's World and his World had always been like two parallel lines. She was the Police officer's daughter, a popular figure at school, a girl so beautiful people dared not look her in the eye. And he was just a nerd, the target of daily bullying by Flash and his crowd.
But this morning, Gwen stood up to help him out. Then she walked with him to the school gate and asked him that strange question—what would he do if he had superpowers?
And just now, the way she slumped over her desk, listless, made him inexplicably feel... she was kind of cute.
Peter was startled by his own thought and quickly shook his head, pulling his attention back to the magazine.
The page the magazine was opened to was a research article about spider Silk. The title read: "The Most Magical Material in Nature—The Infinite Possibilities of Spider Silk."
He stared at the dense text, suddenly remembering the question Gwen asked in the morning. If he had superpowers, what would he do?
He thought for a moment and wrote a line in his notebook: "With great power comes great responsibility."
After writing it, he was stunned for a moment, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the trash can.
Inside the music room, the drumming was in full swing. Gwen sat behind the drum kit, holding the drumsticks in both hands, as if she were possessed by something. Her eyes were fixed on the sheet music in front of her—it was an original song Glory had just written, with a complex intro, varied rhythms, and a solo in the middle that required coordination of hands and feet.
Yet, she could just play it. Her body seemed to remember everything. When to step on the hi-hat, when to hit the snare drum, when to deliver a bursting floor tom hit—every movement was just right, every beat was perfectly precise.
Glory stood to the side, her jaw almost dropping: "This is the first time I've shown her the sheet music, right? How is she playing it like she's practiced it?"
Mary Jane, holding her guitar and strumming along to the rhythm, laughed and shouted: "A genius! I told you Gwen is a genius!"
Betty's bass line steadily supported the bottom end, occasionally looking up to cast a surprised glance at Gwen.
The song ended.
Gwen put down the drumsticks, her palms slightly sweaty. She herself was a bit dazed—for those ten minutes just now, it was as if she were being controlled by something, she didn't need to think at all, her hands just moved on their own.
"Gwen, not bad!" Glory walked over and patted her shoulder hard. "I was worried this song was too complex and you'd need to practice for two weeks. But you nailed it on the first try?"
"It was alright..." Gwen rubbed her shoulder, feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"What do you mean 'alright'?" Mary Jane put her guitar aside, walked over, and put her hands on her hips. "This is talent! You're a natural drummer!"
Betty nodded too: "Really amazing. That solo just now, the force and rhythm were spot on."
Gwen was a bit embarrassed by the praise and looked down at the drumsticks in her hand.
The original owner's memories and skills had remained. That was a good thing.
But she felt a vague sense of unease—besides the drumming skills, what else had this body left behind? The original owner's memories? The original owner's feelings? Or, had the original owner completely disappeared, leaving only an empty shell, occupied by her, the outsider?
"Gwen?" Mary Jane waved her hand in front of her. "What are you spacing out for?"
"Huh? Nothing." Gwen came back to her senses and forced a smile. "Just a little tired."
"Then let's call it a day." Mary Jane clapped her hands. "Everyone go home and digest the sheet music, and we'll rehearse the full version tomorrow."
The group packed up their things to leave. Gwen put the drumsticks back on the rack and suddenly noticed a small red dot on her wrist.
She was stunned for a moment and rubbed it with her finger—it didn't look like a mosquito bite, but rather like a needle prick. When did she get that? She couldn't remember.
After the afternoon classes ended, Gwen walked home alone.
The setting Sun dyed the whole street a warm orange-red. Someone was walking a dog, children were kicking a ball on the side of the road, and the coffee shop on the corner emitted a rich aroma. Everything was normal, so normal it felt like she was supposed to be living here all along.
Gwen pushed open the door and smelled the scent of freshly baked cookies.
"Mom, I'm home."
"Is that my baby? You're back?" Helen poked her head out of the kitchen, her face dusted with a little flour. "How was school today?"
"It was okay."
"Are you feeling better?" Helen walked over and reached out to touch Gwen's forehead. "You didn't look too good this morning."
"It's nothing now, Mom." Gwen obediently let her touch her, a strange feeling of warmth welling up in her heart. The feeling of being cared for was something she hadn't experienced in a long time.
At dinner time, George Stacy sat at the head of the dining table, his expression more serious than usual. Helen served the last dish and sat down next to her husband.
"Public security hasn't been great lately," George said, his gaze falling on Gwen. "Try to get home early, don't linger outside too late."
Gwen speared a piece of roast chicken: "What happened?"
George was silent for two seconds, seemingly weighing his words.
"There's a Japanese Gang that has been very active in New York recently." He put down his knife and fork, his brows slightly furrowed. "Assassinations, human trafficking... and some other illegal activities we are currently investigating."
"Oh my god," Helen covered her mouth, "that's terrifying."
"So Gwen, you must be careful." George looked at his daughter. "Especially at night, don't go to remote places. If anything happens, call me immediately."
Gwen nodded, but her mind was racing quickly.
Japanese Gang? Assassination? Human trafficking? Doesn't this sound like the Island incident from my past life...
"What?" George didn't hear her clearly.
"Ah, it's nothing." Gwen quickly shook her head. "I mean, I will be careful. You should stay safe too, Dad."
George smiled and reached out to ruffle her hair. "Don't worry, your dad has been a Police officer for twenty years; I've seen it all."
After dinner, Gwen returned to her room.
She lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The peeling piece of wallpaper was still there, looking like a chubby pigeon. Too many things had happened throughout the day; she needed to process it all properly.
Mary Jane's band.
Peter liked Mary Jane.
Japanese Gang.
And that inexplicable red dot on her wrist.
She raised her wrist and took a closer look—the red dot had already faded, leaving no mark on her skin. Perhaps she was just overthinking it.
Gwen rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
Sleepiness gradually washed over her. She thought groggily, what was she supposed to do tomorrow? Right, she had to go to the library to look up information and understand the specific situation of this World. Was there Stark Industries? Was there the Avengers? Was there—
She fell asleep.
She didn't know how much time had passed when Gwen was jolted awake by a severe headache.
The pain felt like someone had set a fire inside her brain, starting from her temples and burning all the way to the back of her head. She wanted to scream, but found she couldn't make a sound. She wanted to move, but found her limbs completely unresponsive.
Pain.
It was too painful. It was so painful that her vision went white, and she felt as if she were about to die.
Then, suddenly, everything returned to calm.
Gwen gasped for air, soaked in sweat, as if she had just been pulled out of Water. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, her heart still pounding violently.
What just happened?
She tried moving her fingers—she could. She tried lifting her legs—she could. Her body seemed fine, except—
Except she felt as if she had become lighter.
Gwen sat up, wanting to get out of bed to drink some Water. She lifted the blanket and put one foot on the floor—
Then her whole body floated up.
It wasn't a metaphor; she was truly floating.
Gwen watched helplessly as she left the surface of the bed, her feet off the ground, hovering in mid-air. She wanted to scream, but the sound was stuck in her throat. She wanted to grab onto something, but her hand swiped through empty air.
Then she made an instinctive movement—turning over.
Just like turning over in bed normally.
The next second, her feet landed on the ceiling.
Gwen looked down and saw her bed three meters below. She saw the desk, chair, and wardrobe all hanging upside down above her head. She blinked, realizing that the room hadn't flipped; she had flipped herself.
She was standing on the ceiling.
Like a fly, standing on the ceiling.
"..."
Gwen's brain completely shut down.
She crouched on the ceiling, hands bracing against the white wall, like a frightened cat, daring not to move. It took a full thirty seconds before she slowly found her voice again.
"What????"
The voice was a suppressed roar, because she didn't dare speak loudly for fear of waking her parents next door.
She looked down at her hands—they were firmly stuck to the ceiling, as if something had glued her there. She tried lifting her left hand—it lifted, but she didn't fall. She tried moving her right foot—it also lifted, and she still didn't fall.
She was like a gecko, able to walk freely on a vertical surface.
Gwen slowly, slowly stood up. She stood on the ceiling, back to the floor, her body parallel to the ground. She tried to take a step—stable. Another step—still stable.
She could walk.
She could walk on the ceiling.
Gwen stood at the highest point of the room, looking down at her bedroom, which felt both familiar and strange. Moonlight shone through the gaps in the curtains, painting a silver-white streak of light on the floor. Her desk, her chair, her bed, all sat there quietly.
And she was standing on the ceiling.
Like a guest from another dimension of this room.
"I..."
Gwen opened her mouth, her voice trembling.
"Am I the real Spider-Man?"
This realization was too absurd, so absurd that she couldn't help but want to laugh. But she couldn't laugh, because she was currently standing on the ceiling, and this fact itself was the most absurd proof.
But that wasn't right.
Had she been bitten by a spider? No.
Had she encountered any radioactive spider? Also no.
Then where did this ability come from? Gwen suddenly remembered the red dot on her wrist that afternoon. That needle-prick-like red dot. At the time, she thought it was a mosquito bite, but now that she thought about it—
Someone had injected her with something. Someone had injected her with something without her knowing, giving her this ability.
Gwen slowly climbed down from the ceiling—or rather, walked down, because she found she could walk from the vertical wall all the way to the floor as if walking on flat ground. The moment her feet touched the ground, she felt a sense of unreality.
She stood in the center of the room, looking down at her hands. Very ordinary hands. Fair, slender, with slight calluses on her fingertips from drumming. These were the hands that had just let her stand on the ceiling.
Wait.
Gwen suddenly thought of a question.
If she had gained the abilities of Spider-Man, what about Peter?
Would Peter still become Spider-Man?
Or was it—
She remembered the science magazine Peter was holding when she met him at the library today. She had glanced at the cover; it seemed to be about research on spider Silk. And what he had said before about going to the library to look up information—
Connors.
Curt Connors.
That scientist researching limb regeneration, that scientist who was crazily conducting experiments because he lacked a right arm, that—scientist who would become the Lizard. Peter was currently his student.
Gwen's breath hitched.
If, in this World, she was the one who gained spider abilities, what about Peter? Would he become Connors's test subject? Would he—become the Lizard?
She remembered that green, huge, mindless Lizard from the comics. She remembered how high a price Peter had paid to stop him.
No.
Gwen clenched her fists.
She had to stop him.
But how?
She was just a novice Spider-Man who had just gained her abilities and didn't know how to use them. She couldn't even—wait, did she have webs?
Gwen raised her wrist, trying to shoot webs with her mind just like Spider-Man in the movies.
Nothing happened.
She tried again.
Still, nothing happened.
She tried to recall the scenes from those movies, trying to make herself "think" of something shooting out from her wrist—
Suddenly, a white thread of Silk shot out from her wrist and "slapped" onto the opposite wall.
Gwen was startled and shrank back. The thread was stretched long, shimmering with a faint silver light in the moonlight, full of resilience.
She stared at that thread, silent for a long time.
So she really had webs.
So she was the Spider-Man of this World.
So—
"Wait."
Gwen suddenly thought of a question.
If the way she gained spider abilities was by being injected by someone, then who was the person who injected her? What was the purpose?
And that Japanese Gang, assassinations, human trafficking, mysterious rituals—
A name flashed through her mind.
Silk.
In this Universe, Silk was the codename of a villain. She was originally a girl who had gained spider abilities, but she had embarked on a path of crime, committing all kinds of evil.
If the Silk of this World existed, then what was her purpose in injecting her with this drug? To test the drug's effectiveness?
Or was it—
Gwen walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, and looked at the sleeping street outside. Under the moonlight, everything seemed quiet and peaceful. But she knew how many undercurrents she didn't know about were hidden beneath this quiet.
"No matter who you are," she said softly, "it won't be that easy to use me for your experiments."
She closed the curtains and turned to look at herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair was a bit messy, and her blue-grey eyes were slightly glowing in the dark. A young girl in pajamas, who had just discovered she possessed superpowers.
Gwen took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.
Tomorrow, she would go find Peter.
Tomorrow, she would figure out what stage Connors's experiment was at.
Tomorrow—
The girl in the mirror suddenly widened her eyes.
Because she saw someone hanging upside down on the ceiling behind her.
A black tight-fitting suit, a red mask, and white eye lenses were staring at her.
Gwen spun around violently, only to find nothing behind her.
Nothing at all. Only moonlight quietly spilling onto the floor.
She looked back at the mirror—there was nothing in the mirror either. Only herself, standing in the moonlight, her face pale.
Was that just now... a hallucination?
Or was it—
Gwen slowly raised her head and looked at the ceiling.
There was nothing on the ceiling. But she knew that something had already set its sights on her.
The city of New York outside the window was asleep, with the occasional sound of a car driving by coming from afar. Gwen stood in front of the window, her hands clenching and unclenching, unclenching and clenching.
A new thought surfaced in her mind—if the person who injected her with the drug was Silk, then her purpose was definitely not as simple as just testing the drug's effectiveness.
To build a team of super-powered individuals.
A criminal army composed of spider-powered beings. And she, Gwen Stacy, was the first test subject.
Gwen slowly clenched her fists, feeling that newfound power flowing through her veins.
Fine.
Since she had already reached this point, she would go all the way.
She raised her head and looked at herself in the mirror. The girl in the mirror also looked at her, her blue-grey eyes reflecting the moonlight and a hint of imperceptible fighting spirit.
"Peter," she said softly, "wait for me."
Tomorrow, she would go find him.
Tomorrow, she would stop Connors's experiment.
Tomorrow—she would find out just how deep the darkness of this World really went.