Tangled Webs

The city outside Gwen’s window was bathed in a restless haze of neon and darkness. She lay awake in bed, limbs tangled in her sheets, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Sleep had become a stranger lately—her mind too loud, her heart too heavy. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Miles. Or worse—his face twisted in disappointment, disgust, and rejection.

Her phone pinged suddenly, a sharp sound in the dead of night. Gwen flinched, grabbing it with a jittery hand, expecting nothing more than another spam notification or maybe a worried text from Amaya. But this was different.

ALERT: ACTIVE META-LEVEL THREAT DETECTED IN LOWER MANHATTAN. IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE REQUESTED.

Her stomach dropped.

Ghost-Spider had been keeping to small patrols lately—petty thefts, stuck cats, and stopping purse snatchers. But this… this was big.

She sat up, heart pounding. Her eyes scanned the message again, then drifted to the mask on her desk. The suit hung beside it like a second skin waiting to be worn. She hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been eating, hadn’t been okay—but something about the call for help pulled her to her feet.

If not her, then who?

Ten minutes later, Gwen leapt from her window into the night, the wind cold against her face. The city always looked different from above—bigger, colder, lonelier. But right now, it looked like it was on the brink of crumbling.

Flashes of emergency lights painted the rooftops in red and blue. Smoke spiraled into the sky, and sirens screamed from blocks away. She moved fast, following the noise, dodging cranes and billboards, her breath sharp in her throat.

Lower Manhattan was chaos.

Cars had been flipped onto their roofs. Buildings bore the marks of something massive having torn through them—walls cracked open, windows shattered. Streetlights sparked. Civilians ran screaming, police set up barricades, and ambulances were already full.

She landed on a rooftop, crouching low as she surveyed the scene.

“Where is he?” she muttered.

There was no sign of Spider-Man.

Gwen’s fingers clenched. She was sure he would be here. He always is.

But he wasn’t.

Instead, down below, the source of the destruction was making its way toward another collapsed intersection. Some villain she didn’t recognize—something huge, muscle-bound and mechanical, stomping down the street with a roar like a broken engine.

Gwen’s heart hammered in her ears.

She could wait.

She could hide.

But the screams were getting louder.

And Spider-Man still wasn’t here.

Gwen swallowed hard. Then, without another thought, she ran, dove from the roof, and threw herself into the chaos below.

If she had to stall—then she would.

If she had to fight—then she’d fight.

Even if it broke her.

The streets were a warzone.

Ghost-Spider landed hard on the cracked asphalt, knees bending to absorb the impact. The ground trembled as the villain turned toward her. He was massive—easily eight feet tall, more machine than man, with arms that looked like they’d been ripped from a construction site. His chest glowed with a pulsing red core, and his eyes burned with fury.

“Another bug?” he snarled, stepping over a wrecked bus. “How many of you pests does this city have?”

Gwen didn't respond. Her fingers flexed, webs primed. She didn’t have a plan—just instincts and adrenaline. But she had to hold out. She had to keep him busy. Spider-Man would be here any second.

She shot forward, flipping over the villain’s head and firing a web straight at his eyes. The gooey mess blinded him momentarily, and she followed up with a rapid series of kicks to the back of his head.

He barely flinched.

“Cute,” he growled, reaching back to grab her. Gwen dodged, ducking under his arm and webbing his feet to the ground before launching herself onto a nearby lamppost. Civilians screamed as more debris rained down from a collapsing building, and Gwen leapt from the pole, catching a falling chunk of concrete with a web and flinging it aside before it could crush someone.

Every part of her ached. Her muscles burned. Her mind was foggy. But she kept moving.

Where the hell was Spider-Man?

She landed a punch square to the villain’s jaw—it hurt her more than it hurt him. He staggered a little, then backhanded her so hard she flew into a parked car, the metal crumpling under her.

Gwen groaned, vision spinning, body shaking. Her head throbbed. Her suit was torn.

“Not enough,” she whispered, crawling to her feet. “Just stall him. Just stall him…”

The villain stomped toward a police barricade. Officers raised their weapons, but Gwen knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. She sprinted and fired a web to his arm, yanking with all her strength. He stumbled, giving her an opening to leap and land a punch to his chest core.

An explosion of sparks knocked her back again, slamming her into the ground.

The air was heavy with smoke and dust. Sirens echoed in the distance. And still… no sign of him.

She rolled onto her side, coughing, spitting blood into her mask. “C’mon, Spider-Man,” she gasped. “Where are you?”

A cop nearby fired his pistol, bullets bouncing harmlessly off the villain’s armor. Gwen groaned, forcing herself up again.

The villain laughed as he raised one massive arm toward the officer.

“No!”

She shot a web to the cop, yanking him out of the way. Then she threw herself into the villain again, latching onto his arm and pulling, spinning, twisting—anything to keep him from hurting anyone else.

Time was running out. She could feel it.

And Spider-Man still hadn’t come.

Everything was a blur.

Smoke stung her eyes, and every breath Gwen took tasted like ash. Her muscles screamed with every move, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The villain—some kind of cyber-enhanced monster named Wreckshard—roared as she wrapped her webs around his arm again, trying to yank him away from the last standing barricade.

She was running on fumes.

“Just go down already!” she growled, yanking with everything she had.

Wreckshard didn’t go down. He spun, tossing her like a ragdoll. Gwen crashed into the hood of a flipped police cruiser and slid to the ground, dazed.

People were screaming. There were still too many civilians in the area. Cops too. Gwen blinked the tears out of her eyes, her vision swimming. Where was he? Why wasn’t Spider-Man here yet?

She forced herself to stand. The world was swaying, her knees trembling. She spotted one of the officers—someone brave or foolish enough to step forward. He was aiming his gun, shouting something.

“No—stay back!” Gwen shouted, voice cracking.

The villain swung one of his giant fists in the officer’s direction. Gwen fired a web and launched herself across the field, determined to reach him first.

She was too late.

The punch landed. The officer flew back, crashing hard against the edge of a smashed storefront.

“No—no no no—” Gwen landed beside him, grabbing his jacket, trying to pull him up. “Hey—hey, come on—stay with me—”

The officer groaned, blood dripping from his mouth.

And Gwen froze.

Her entire body went cold.

She saw his face.

It was her father.

“…Dad?”

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

“Gwen…” he breathed, barely audible.

“No—no—this—this isn’t happening—” Her mask slipped halfway off as she cradled his head in her lap. “You’re gonna be okay. You're gonna be fine. Help is coming.”

But the bleeding wouldn’t stop.

His uniform was torn. There was too much red.

“No, no, please—” Gwen’s voice broke. She was crying, shaking, pressing her hands to the wound like it would change something. “Dad, please stay with me!”

He gave her a small smile. “You… always wanted to help people,” he whispered. “You really… are your mother’s daughter.”

“Stop talking like that—you're going to be okay—” Gwen’s tears soaked into her mask as she clung to him.

George Stacy's hand rose, trembling, brushing her cheek.

“I’m proud of you, baby girl.”

Then… nothing.

His hand fell.

Gwen froze, unable to move.

The world faded around her. The screams. The smoke. The sirens.

Just her. And him.

Her father. Gone.

And she hadn’t even protected him.

Her chest cracked open with a silent sob as she pulled the mask fully off, burying her face in his blood-soaked shirt. Her body shook with grief, the pain overwhelming.

Too late.

She had been too late.

Then, behind her—webs thwipping, footsteps landing—came Spider-Man.

“Ghost-Spider?” he called out.

But Gwen didn’t turn around.

She didn’t want him to see her like this.

Not now.

Not when she’d just lost everything.

Wreckshard finally stumbled, groaning as his feet gave out beneath him. Webbing snapped into place like steel cables, binding his limbs. Spider-Man landed hard beside him, panting, bruised, but victorious.

It was over.

And yet—it wasn’t.

Ghost-Spider didn’t celebrate. She didn’t even look his way.

She was kneeling a few feet away, her back turned to him, hunched over something—or someone—on the ground. Spider-Man took a step closer, the clamor of the crowd fading behind the hum of emergency vehicles and sirens. He paused when he got a clear view.

The body. The blood.

The unmistakable face of Captain George Stacy.

His heart dropped.

“Gwen?” he asked softly.

Ghost-Spider’s head snapped up. Her mask was pushed up around her forehead, eyes red and swollen. Her cheeks were soaked with tears. The expression she wore was nothing like the joking, determined, sarcastic vigilante he was used to.

This was someone broken.

“Where were you?” she whispered, her voice raw.

Spider-Man opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t have an answer. He’d been stuck helping in another borough, trying to stop a building from collapsing. But it wasn’t enough. Not fast enough.

“Gwen—” he said again, stepping toward her, but she stood quickly, staggering back like he’d burned her.

“No.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry?” she spat, voice trembling. “I called you. I was holding him while he—” She choked, rubbing her face as if trying to scrub the memory out of her skin. “You should’ve been here.”

“I know. I know, Gwen, but I—”

“Don’t!” she snapped, eyes wild with pain. “Don’t make excuses.”

He stepped back, stunned.

“I thought I could do this,” she said, quieter now, shaking her head. “I thought if I just worked hard enough, I’d earn this. This mask. This job. That I’d be someone the city could count on.”

She looked down at her hands. Blood. Her father’s blood. Still there.

“I wasn’t fast enough. Strong enough. Good enough. He’s gone… because of me.”

“No,” Spider-Man said firmly, stepping forward again. “This isn’t your fault.”

Gwen met his eyes. “Isn’t it? I dragged him into this. Me. Ghost-Spider. The girl who wanted to be a hero. And now he’s dead. And I still have to pretend like everything’s fine.”

Her voice cracked again.

Spider-Man didn’t know what to say. Not really. Not when she looked like her entire world had been torn in two.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, because it was the only truth he had.

Gwen took a shaky breath, pulling her mask down again and backing away.

“I can't do this right now.”

She turned, ran—webbing high into the air and slinging herself into the night like a ghost disappearing in the wind.

Spider-Man watched her go, heart heavy.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly powerless.