I checked into a motel and paid in cash. I was just getting ready to turn in for the night when my head began to pound. I grunted and pressed my hands to my temples, a sharp, drilling pain cutting straight through my skull. The world seemed to resonate — like a tuning fork struck against reality — and then, as quickly as it had hit, it was gone.
I panted, massaging my temples. Where did that come from? Could be Franklin Richards' powers finally starting to assert themselves. That made sense. The stronger the ability, the more persistent its emergence — I knew that much. Maybe they were finally kicking in.
I stayed up late trying to figure out what had changed, but I couldn't detect any obvious shift in my abilities. No new physical changes, no boost in what I already had. I cursed quietly. I'd just have to wait until the next episode told me more.
Wide awake at that point, I sat on the edge of the bed and spoke quietly. "Sexy — what have you got on Warren?"
"Dr. Miles Warren, born the 21st of April, 1972. He has an estranged son named Jack, and his wife passed away five years ago. He has been attending weekly sessions with a psychologist who specializes in obsessive behavior therapy. After accessing her private files, I recovered her notes on Dr. Warren."
A holographic sheet materialized before me. I began scanning the entries, absorbing quickly.
My eyes narrowed as I read. Five years of therapy since his wife died. At first, the sessions were straightforward — depression, suicidal ideation, guilt over his son's estrangement. Normal enough, given the loss.
Then came the obsession. He had selected what the therapist called 'targets' — for lack of a better word. Young women with blonde hair and blue eyes. He'd been tracking them. The therapist had told him to stop, multiple times. He promised he had. She didn't believe him.
Alarm bells were going off loud and fast. I scrolled through the other files Sexy had found. Scientifically, the man was undeniably brilliant — but he was unstable. Deeply unstable.
I found an old photograph of his wife. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. He had a type.
This was a problem.
And since the pain in my head showed no sign of letting me sleep, I might as well do something useful with the night.
"Sexy — get me Dr. Warren's home address." I stepped out of the hotel room and locked the door behind me. "And find me a 24-hour diner. I'm going to need to eat at some point."
A map appeared with two marked locations, both reasonably close together. I ducked into an alleyway, scaled the fire escape of the nearest building, and leaped across rooftops, making my way toward the address.
I cut into the heart of Manhattan, into the Italian neighborhood near the center. The buildings there were old — some of them genuinely ancient by American standards, all designed with similar facades. I identified Warren's place immediately by the overgrown garden and the bin out front, overflowing and uncollected.
I latched onto the side of the building and activated stealth mode, then worked my way around to the largest street-facing window. Bedroom. Curled under a single sheet was Dr. Miles Warren, asleep.
I studied the lock — simple mechanism. A mental snap, and it turned. I slid the window carefully open.
I moved inside. Warren was beginning to stir — I could see the telltale shift of the shoulders. I reached down and channeled a short pulse of bio-electricity through my palm, giving him a sharp jolt.
"Ep!" He twitched and went still, out cold. I'd checked his files — no cardiac history, no risk.
I began a systematic search. Sock drawer. Night table. Under the bed, in the wardrobe. If he was keeping anything that revealed the true scope of his obsession, it would be somewhere private.
I was just about to take the search downstairs when something stopped me. I pushed the clothes in his wardrobe aside and noticed the back panel was slightly raised — elevated, not flush with the frame. I knocked on the wood. It rang hollow.
I smiled, pressed my palm flat against the surface, and pushed. A soft click. The panel slid away.
It was exactly what I had expected to find, and yet somehow worse to see in person.
A shrine. Dedicated entirely to Gwen Stacy. Her photograph hung at the center, surrounded by a ring of artificial roses. On a small shelf below sat a collection of photographs and a coil of blonde hair. No prizes for guessing whose.
I looked through the shrine carefully and found a leather journal tucked at the bottom. I opened to the most recent entry and read.
*I've been consumed by her for days now. Today she came in wearing the blue skirt — the one I told her I liked. I made a joke about it and she actually remembered. She laughed. That settles it: Gwen shares my feelings, no matter what that quack of a therapist keeps insisting. She is my soulmate. I need to make her mine. I'll start gradually — separate her from the other interns, perhaps assign her the XX029 project. Have her work it with me... privately.*
I set the journal down. I was already composing a call to his therapist when I stopped myself. I looked from the shrine to the unconscious man on the floor and felt something click into place.
This was an opportunity. A test.
I had my suit photograph the entire shrine and scan every entry in the journal — the ones that were vague enough to obscure the author's identity while making the psychological profile undeniable. Then I composed a short message.
*So, the little girl wants to be a Spider? Let's find out. This diary belongs to someone close to you. Someone with an unhealthy fixation. Can you figure out who it is? What will you do once you know?*
*You have 24 hours, starting now. Fail to solve this mystery, and the next person I contact will be Captain George Stacy. Won't he be in for a rude awakening?*
*— The Dark Knight*
I had Sexy push copies to every account Gwen had online, and then send it as a text as well. I covered my tracks, replaced the hidden panel exactly as I had found it, and pocketed the journal. By checking the frequency of entries, I could tell Warren only wrote daily — meaning he'd have no reason to open the shrine before tomorrow evening, giving Gwen a full day before he noticed anything was missing.
I slipped back out and disappeared into the city.
Gwen was probably asleep right now. She'd get the messages in the morning. I wanted to see how she reacted — how she handled blackmail, a stalker, and the threat of exposure all hitting her at once. Because at very minimum, a Spider needed some experience with that kind of pressure.
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With Gwen:
To say Gwen Stacy was panicking would have been a significant understatement.
She had been so careful. She had watched what happened to the Fantastic Four when Peter left — watched how quickly everything collapsed when a secret identity went public — and she had promised herself it would never happen to her. She would never put her father at risk. Not for anything.
She was wrong.
She had woken up to a message that sent a cold wave through her entire body and made her want to scream. Someone knew. They knew, and they were treating her life like a puzzle to be solved. And what frightened her even more than the threat were the images attached — entries upon entries, all about her, all about some person's obsession with her. Who had written them? Was it the same person sending the message? No — that made no sense. Why would someone tip their own hand? This was someone else.
Two enemies, then. That much was established.
The idea of someone watching her, fixating on her, consumed every thought she had for the rest of the day. She didn't wish her father a good morning. She didn't eat breakfast. She just walked out.
By the time she reached her lab she had constructed a rough psychological profile of both individuals. Growing up as the daughter of a police captain wasn't just a biographical detail — it had genuinely shaped how she thought.
The diary author was male, or at least wrote with heavily masculine patterns. He had obvious mental health issues — she didn't doubt the obsession was genuine, possibly tipping into psychosis. And whatever his fixation was, it had been building for a long time. More than that... he was close to her. Someone she saw regularly.
The other person — the one sending the messages — was harder to read. He definitely knew about her powers. And he knew her, somehow. He'd framed this as a test. The question was whose test, and why.
As Gwen sat down at her workstation, she began scanning the room — looking at every face — and stopped cold. She had seen the handwriting in those photographs somewhere before. Here. In this lab.
Which meant one of the men in this room had an unhealthy fixation on her. Which meant she was in danger.
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With Peter:
I checked out of the motel early and left before the building stirred. I grabbed breakfast at a small family diner in Queens, then headed over to see how things were going with my would-be successor.
I found her in the lab, working on some kind of serum — or trying to. She was completely distracted. Kept looking over her shoulder, studying every face in the room, moving her gaze from person to person. Good — she had gotten my messages.
It was honestly a little dull watching her watch everyone else. She looked ready to approach one of the other lab assistants twice, then talked herself out of it both times.
I watched with quiet curiosity. She suspected it was someone in this lab. I had no idea how she had narrowed it down that quickly, but she had — and clever was exactly what I needed her to be.
"Spider — Dr. Warren is pulling up," Sexy said. I shifted my position just in time to see the man himself entering through the university's main entrance.
I sat back and waited.
Warren entered the lab, greeted everyone with his usual warmth, and made a point of stopping to chat with Gwen for a few minutes before moving on. Gwen was pleasant enough throughout. But the moment he walked away, she turned to face the window — and the expression that passed across her face was unmistakable. Horror. Recognition.
First suspect identified.
I watched her freeze, working through it. I was curious what the exact thought process looked like up close, so I carefully reached out with a mental probe and listened.
*Can it really be him? Dr. Warren has been nothing but kind to me. He rejected more qualified candidates and promoted me to his personal assistant. He's always inviting me to lunch, always offering to stay late and help...* A pause. *I need proof. His handwriting — I recognized the handwriting from someone in this room. It has to be him. A test, then.*
I withdrew the probe and watched as she picked up a pen and a blank sheet of paper. She walked up to Warren's corner of the lab and began talking to him. I read her lips: she was asking for a handwritten letter of recommendation for some program she was considering. Thinking on her feet and improvising — excellent.
He melted. Practically begged to help. She had the letter in her hands inside two minutes and walked back to her station, smiling.
Then she looked down at the paper, and the smile died.
I put the probe back in.
*It's him. It's the same handwriting. Oh my God — oh my God, I need to tell someone. Dad? No — how do I even explain this? "Hey Dad, a mystery stranger sent me photos of a diary last night and told me to find out who wrote it or they'd expose me as Spider-Woman"?*
I chuckled under my breath. She was in over her head, just a little. I pulled the probe and tapped my helmet. "Sexy — activate voice disguise and call Gwen from a blocked number."
"Right away." A dial tone started. I watched Gwen flinch out of her thoughts, pull out her phone and stare at it. She let it ring twice, then picked up.
"H-hello?" she whispered. "Who is this?"
"Three hours," I said. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. The handwriting test was clever — though I'll be honest, I made it easier than I should have."
Gwen's eyes went wide. She straightened up and swept the room with a look. "Who are you?! How do you know all of this?!"
"I'm watching you right now," I replied. She turned toward the window — straight at the tree branch I was sitting in, invisible behind my stealth mode. "Don't bother trying to find me. And don't worry about explaining yourself to your father — I've got that covered."
I reached out mentally and unlocked the window. It swung open. Gwen stumbled back. "H-how are you doing this?!"
"Simple. I'm a ghost." I took Warren's journal from earlier and threw it through the open window. It arced through the air straight toward her — she dodged sideways on pure instinct and snatched it out of the air with a catch that was pure Spider reflex.
"I see the Spider-sense is working well. That's good." I waited a beat while she stared at the book. "Use it. Tell your father you found it snooping in Warren's desk. That'll cover your tracks. I'd move quickly — you don't want him getting rid of evidence."
"Who are you?!" Gwen hissed. I could smell her desperation from the tree.
"I told you. I'm the Dark Knight." And I cut the call.
She had passed the first test. Now for the second.
I climbed down the tree, dropped my camouflage, and walked out far enough to clear the campus before going rooftop. I crossed the city to Gwen's address and let myself into her apartment. Empty. Messy in the way that single people living alone always are.
I looked through a few photographs until I had enough reference to build a convincing holographic render of Captain George Stacy. Then I got to work.
I scouted the docks and found what I was looking for — an abandoned warehouse off to the south, obviously mob-connected. It took Sexy two minutes to link it to Richard Salvanin, brother to the head of the Salvanin crime family.
Perfect.
I spent three hours setting up the space: cleared a wide area in the center of the upper office, unlocked every window and skylight, and placed two holo-projectors on the floor below. One projected a convincing, life-sized image of Captain Stacy — bound, gagged, kneeling. For someone without experience with holograms, it would be completely indistinguishable from the real thing. The second projector built out a passable likeness of Richard Salvanin from photos Sexy pulled online.
When everything was in place, I found a wooden crate, sat down on it cross-legged, and had Sexy send Gwen the message.
*Second test. If you ever want to see him alive again — come to me. Location attached.*
Attached below: the warehouse coordinates, and the photograph I had taken of the holographic Captain Stacy.
I leaned back and waited.
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With Gwen:
She pushed through her front door and stopped.
Exhausted wasn't close to the right word. She genuinely hadn't expected it to be true — but it was. The handwriting matched. Warren was the one who had written all of that. He was off his medication and had been for some time, clearly.
What she couldn't understand was how she had missed it. She prided herself on being observant. She caught things other people walked past. And she had completely missed this, for months. Which made the bigger question even louder: just who was this Dark Knight, and how did he know more about her life than she did?
Her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out, frowned at the unknown number, opened the message — and her eyes went wide.
*Second test. If you ever want to see him alive again...*
Below it: a location. And a photograph.
Her father. Bound and gagged, kneeling on a concrete floor.
"NO!" Gwen launched herself off the bed.
*This can't be happening. This can't be happening.*
She dialed her father's number with shaking hands. It rang. It rang again. Then the line clicked.
"Dad?! Where are you?!"
"When you're in a hostage situation, Gwen," the same deep, modified voice said calmly, "you never play with lives."
"Who are you?! If you hurt him — if you so much as —"
"What? What will you do, little Spider? Call the police and explain who you are? Call the Avengers and hope they care about you? You have twenty minutes. Get here, put down whoever's outside, and I won't kill him. But if you take too long... well. You'll learn what it's like to live with an aunt and uncle."
The line cut out.
Gwen memorized the address and threw the phone across the room. She ripped down the false ceiling tile in her bedroom and pulled out the costume. She was out the window before it had stopped swinging.
She had been so careful. She kept telling herself that as she moved, faster than she ever had before, pushing her body to everything it could do. Every heartbeat felt like a second draining away. Every jump cleared a building or two but the dockside skyline kept stretching ahead of her, always another block away, always just out of reach.
Ten minutes. She saw the docks.
She came down hard, landing in a crouch, glass and gravel skittering out from under her feet, and immediately swept the area for signs of life.
"What the—" Two armed men near the entrance swung toward her.
"Where is he?!" Gwen roared, not waiting for an answer. She was already moving — she hit the nearest man at full speed, momentum carrying them both into the man behind him, and threw them both into the wall with everything she had.
"Waste her!" The remaining three drew and opened fire.
Gwen threw herself sideways, hit the ground rolling, and came up behind a crate as bullets tore into it. She took a breath, mapped the room in her head, and moved. She climbed the back wall in the shadows, circled around behind the firing line, and dropped down.
Two quick jabs to the backs of two of them. Before the last man could turn around, she was already airborne — boot connecting squarely with the side of his head. He went down and stayed down.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Slow, deliberate applause. She spun, hunting the source, and spotted a door near the back of the warehouse swinging open. She took the invitation and charged straight in.
The door shut behind her. The room was dark.
"Safe, as promised." The voice filled the space completely. "Eleven minutes. I honestly doubt Peter Parker himself could have managed that without his web-lines. Though to be fair, he does have a few extra tricks."
"I'm here — let him go!" Gwen roared.
Out of the shadows stepped a figure in a skintight black bodysuit with plates of armor covering it from head to toe — a modern knight, with a black cape swept back from his shoulders and a full helmet bearing two long ears and two narrow white eye slits.
"Who the hell are you?!" she growled, dropping low, ready.
"I," the figure said, pushing his cape aside to reveal the bat emblem on his chest, "am Batman." He snapped his fingers. Interior lights blazed on, flooding the warehouse. Two people stood inside two separate glass enclosures with metal frames. "Today, we have two special guests."
"Dad!" Gwen cried out. She could see him hammering the glass from inside, soundless behind the casing.
"One is Captain George Stacy — an officer of the law," the Batman continued. "The other is Richard Salvanin — a career criminal. You have two options." He held out both hands, a switch resting in each palm. "This one," he raised his right, "saves your father. But in doing so, it fills the other casing with poison gas and kills the mobster instantly." He raised his left. "This one does the opposite."
He threw both switches. Gwen caught them out of pure reflex, staring down at the two devices in her hands.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her hands trembling.
"Because I want to know what kind of hero you are," he said simply. "Choose quickly — before I choose for you."
Gwen looked at the glass casings. They looked thick, but not enormously so. She got an idea.
She picked up the button that would save her father. She clicked it.
"Oh my," the Batman said softly.
Green gas began filling the second casing — Richard Salvanin's. Gwen threw both controllers away and launched herself forward, drawing her arm back and driving her fist through the glass. It shattered. She spun to her father's casing — and it opened automatically.
"Dad!" She reached for him — and her arms closed on nothing.
He was gone. So was Salvanin.
She looked around. Then she looked at the Batman.
"...Holograms?"
Batman chuckled. "Did you really think I would hurt a police captain, Gwen?"
"ARGH!" She launched herself at him.
He sidestepped, caught her by the wrist, and sent her into a table. She hit it hard, crashed through it, and landed in a pile on the other side. She wheezed, clutching her side, and looked up through her visor.
Batman rolled his neck. "Slower than I expected. You'll need to work on that."
Gwen lay on her back, glaring up at him. "Who are you?"
He looked down at her for a moment, then sighed. "You did half well — breaking the casing was blunt but effective, and the decoy press of the button was a smart touch. But you had no plan when you came through that door, Gwen. You need to think before you leap."
"How the hell are you?!" she asked, patience officially gone.
The helmet seemed to shift, then retract — folding back to reveal the grinning face of Peter Parker beneath it.
"Hello, Gwen. I figured we were overdue for a talk."
Gwen stared.
"...Fuck me."
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Ten minutes later, Gwen and I were sitting on the roof of the warehouse.
I had calmed her down — which had taken a minute — and produced several bags of food from my bag of storage, passing her half. I finished the last of my burger and slurped my soda.
The scent coming off her was a complicated layering of confusion, anger, residual fear, and — buried underneath all of it — something that smelled distinctly like grudging admiration.
"I suppose I should start with an apology," I said.
Gwen stared at me. "You think?! You threatened to blow my cover, faked kidnapping my dad, made me fight actual armed men with live ammunition, and made me think I had to choose between killing my father and killing a stranger?!"
"Look at it as a test," I said.
"A test?! What kind of test involves tricking me into thinking my father was about to die?!"
"The kind that tells me whether you're actually ready to be a Spider," I replied.
Gwen paused. Her voice changed. "...Are you serious?"
"Very."
"And?"
I paused, watching the nerves cross her face. "Not bad. C-minus."
"C-minus?! Seriously?!"
"I honestly nearly failed you. But you dealt with those men efficiently, and you cracked Warren in three hours — that was genuinely impressive. I figured I could give you a little slack, given it's only your first month on the job."
"Why would you have failed me?"
"The moment you thought your father was in danger, you had your blinders on completely. You didn't once consider trying to enter quietly and get the drop on whoever was holding him. You just crashed through the front door." I shrugged. "Rookie mistake."
Gwen went quiet. She looked away and her shoulders dropped. "I see. So you want me to stop."
I laughed — genuinely, loudly. Gwen actually flinched.
"Stop? Gwen, even if I told you to stop, would you actually listen?"
A pause. "Well... I mean..."
"I didn't ask permission from anyone when I started," I said. "And a hero who's doing this for the right reasons isn't going to wait for my blessing. I told you what you need to improve — I didn't tell you to quit."
"But it does matter to me!" Gwen said. "I'm doing this because of you, partly."
"Partly?" I raised an eyebrow.
She looked at her hands. "...I also wanted to do some good. After what we did with Dr. Connors — I couldn't stop thinking about that moment. I don't know how else to explain it. It was the most alive I've ever felt." She was quiet for a second. "And then a few days after that, you told the government to go to hell and ran. And I got my powers."
I narrowed my eyes. "At Oscorp, during an interview. A spider with a 42 marking."
Gwen blinked. "How did you —"
"Multiple dimensions," I reminded her. "I have a theory about how it happened, but that's not the point right now." I looked at her. "So you put on a costume and decided New York needed a Spider."
"Pretty much," Gwen said. "You weren't here. The city needed someone."
I smiled. "I said it once, I'll say it again — you're one hell of a woman, Gwen Stacy."
She almost smiled. "I suppose... it feels weird now, realizing how much has changed. It wasn't even that long ago."
"I remember you standing at my door soaking wet," I said, "asking for my father."
"And you were practically naked," Gwen laughed.
"You didn't seem to mind, as I recall."
"Well... obviously not." She shrugged. "Hey — wait. That night, when I showed up — were you actually asleep?"
"No. I'd just gotten back from patrol and didn't have the energy to change."
"I knew it!" Gwen cried out. "Ha! One mystery solved." Then the smile faded slightly. "Peter... I know you probably think I'm not ready. And honestly... you might be right. But —"
"Gwen." I cut in. "I didn't say that."
She blinked. "But you said —"
"— I said you need to think before you act. I didn't say stop." I shrugged. "I'll be honest — I wish you had more training. But I wasn't perfect when I started either."
"You helped the Fantastic Four take down Doctor Doom," she said flatly.
"And got knocked unconscious doing it," I replied. "Gwen — I don't mind someone else carrying this name. That whole speech I gave about a new Age of Heroes was for people exactly like you. You don't need permission from me or anyone else. You're your own hero." I paused. "Besides — it's not like I asked permission."
"So... I can be Spider-Woman?" she asked. "You don't mind?"
"That's entirely up to you. But if you're going to keep going, you need to understand — what I just put you through tonight? One day, it might not be a test. The danger is real. Your father's safety is genuinely at risk every single day you wear that suit. Can you live with that?"
She was quiet for a while. Then she looked up. "Can you teach me?"
I sighed. "I've got too much on my plate, Gwen — I'm sorry. Somehow leaving the city gave me more responsibilities, not fewer." Her face fell. "But," I continued, "I called in some favors. Daredevil and Glider have agreed to mentor you until they think you're ready to go solo."
"Wait — seriously? Even Glider?!" Her eyes went wide. "That guy hates me!"
"He's a big softie underneath all the posturing," I said. "Has an enormous heart and something to prove. He's a good person, Harry." I stood up. "Anyway — enough about him. Gwen. Are you sure?"
She met my eyes. "Yes."
I smiled. "Good. Then before I go —" I stood and motioned for her to follow. She did, and watched as I reached into empty air and drew out the metal briefcase.
"How did you do that?!" she gasped.
"Magic."
"Shut up!"
"I'm completely serious. Magic is real. I'm one of the people who protects this world from what lives on the other side of it." I pushed the case into her hands. "But that's a conversation for another day. For now — this is for you."
Gwen took it, looking at the lock. "What's the combination?"
"Your birthday."
She stared at me. "Has anyone ever told you how unsettling it is that you know this much about me?"
"I do my research," I said. "Which is exactly what I need from you going forward. Inside is everything you'll need to hit the ground running — tools I didn't have when I started. You'll have a real advantage, Gwen, but don't let it become a crutch. I want you to get better."
Gwen nodded. She opened the case, and her eyes lit up. "This is incredible. What is all of this?"
"Those are notes — things you should read carefully," I said, reaching in and holding up a web-shooter. "And this is a web-shooter. If you're going to be a Spider, you need webs."
"How does it work? I tried making my own version but the threads kept dissolving—"
"Pressurized canister of a specific chemical compound. When it hits open air, it forms the web material," I said, placing it back. "The first batch is on me. But if you want the formula to make more..." I held up a neatly folded piece of paper and smirked. "You'll have to earn it."
Gwen grinned at that. "Give me some credit, Parker. With the formula in hand, this will be a walk in the park."
"They seriously call me the world's smartest?" I blinked.
Gwen shrugged. "Some people, yeah. A lot of the students I know think you're well ahead of Stark and Richards both. Maybe they're a little biased."
"I honestly never thought about it," I said. "Kind of like the sound of it, though." I grinned.
Gwen smiled back — then her expression softened. "Peter... thank you. For believing in me. I know you didn't have to, and wearing your name was a bold move, but—"
"—But you're a hero, and you deserve a chance," I said, and pulled her into a hug.
She hesitated for just a second before she held me back tightly. "Good luck, Gwen. Be brave, be kind, and never forget the first rule of being a superhero."
She pulled back. "What's that?"
"If you ever encounter an extremely attractive villain — you are not allowed to fall in love with them," I said gravely.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Very funny."
"I'm not joking. Do you have any idea why my love life is this complicated? One encounter with a certain cat burglar in a skintight suit and next thing I know I'm a fugitive wanted in fifteen countries. Completely worth it. I would do it again without hesitation. But still — no."
Gwen blinked. "Right. Okay. Noted."
"Good." I summoned my sling ring, opened a portal directly to the roof of the London sanctum, and turned to her with a nod. "Until next time, Spider-Woman." I stepped through and let it close behind me.
The last thing I saw was Gwen's jaw dropping.
God, I love magic.