New York shimmered as always—a mosaic of lights and concrete, distant sirens and flashing ads painting the night sky. On the top floor of an old downtown building, the wind blew softly. Sitting on the ledge, legs swinging, Gwen watched the city below as if it were a living map of possibilities.
She wore the black and white suit she had sewn with her own hands: web-like lines traced her arms, the flexible fabric hugged her agile movements, and the white hood—folded inward—was detailed with fine web patterns, as if the entire outfit breathed an identity still waiting to be born. Beside her, neatly folded, was a simple white mask with wide black lenses.
"Arthur's idea was too good to pass up," she murmured to herself, the small radio clipped to her chest. Her headphones muffled the city noise; the receiver in her hand crackled faintly, tuned to a police frequency. It was Arthur's suggestion—tap into the emergency channel, track signals, create a live map of New York's trouble spots.
She squeezed the radio, feeling the cool plastic. Having access to the police feed meant having an edge. Gwen smiled, waiting for her first opportunity. This was the step she had decided to take: to watch, to listen, and to act.
While her mind drifted through tactical scenarios—where to position herself, how to descend faster without losing control, whether a clean entrance or a direct strike would be better—the radio suddenly hissed with the unmistakable urgency of reality breaking through.
"—Repeat, robbery in progress at Langford & Sons Jewelry. Suspect armed and fleeing down Central toward the fifth block. Immediate assistance requested for interception."
Gwen's eyes narrowed. Her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up—the parachute of adrenaline opened, and anxiety turned electric. She grabbed the mask, pulling it over her face in one swift, confident motion.
Her breath quickened. Then she jumped—an intentional dive, arms open, hood flaring in the wind like the wings of a bird learning to fly.
"Woo-hoo!"
A cry of exhilaration and fear escaped her throat. The fall was a rush of freedom; the cityscape below—cars, lights, and tiny human figures—made her feel both immense and beautifully small.
When the ground started approaching too fast, she pressed her fingers together and fired a thin white line from the device at her wrist. The web latched onto a neighboring rooftop, and her body swung forward, momentum carrying her with the grace of a cat mid-leap.
Down below, people looked up. The event unfolded in fractions of a second—heads tilted skyward, phones appearing like sudden blossoms, whispers turning into recordings, and recordings into live streams. Someone was already broadcasting before anyone could even make out what they were seeing.
Gwen didn't notice any of it. She didn't see the notifications flooding social media, nor the divided comments—half calling it a miracle, half a hoax. Her focus was locked on the scene ahead, in the fifth block: sirens flashing, makeshift police barricades, a curious crowd—and in the middle of it all, a man with a gun pointed at a young girl's head.
The police were doing what they could, but the man was cornered and unstable. Every word he shouted was a blade, and every tear that rolled down the child's face tightened the tension like a noose.
"Stay where you are!"
one officer yelled, voice tight with fear.
"Put the girl down and no one gets hurt!"
another shouted, trying to negotiate, already trembling from nerves.
Gwen landed just a few meters away. The landing was soft, almost theatrical. Instinctively, the crowd parted.
The man screamed, eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Don't come any closer! I swear I'll shoot!"
One officer urged calm; another called for backup—and through the static of a nearby radio came the commanding voice of Captain Stacy:
"Stabilize the situation. No escalation. I'm on my way."
His voice was a thread of authority—steady, but still far.
Gwen moved with the precision of someone who had rehearsed this moment in her head a hundred times. Two sidesteps, a quick spin—and she shot a web, not to grab the gun or the hostage, but to create a subtle distraction. The line coiled around the man's ankle, pulling just enough to make him lose balance for a heartbeat.
"Hey! Not cool, scaring a kid like that, tough guy. Hand her over."
Her voice came out steady, youthful, and oddly serious through the mask.
The man turned toward the sound—but there was no one there. Panic chipped away at his focus. For one second, he felt his hands go numb. Then another web shot out, wrapping around the gun and locking it against his chest. His face twisted between confusion and rage.
Gwen was already beside the girl, wrapping her gently in her arms.
"It's okay now," she whispered, voice soft. "Mom's nearby. You're safe."
The little girl gasped, sobbing, then clung to her rescuer. The man, still struggling, tried to move—but another web pinned him firmly to the ground, silencing his resistance.
The police reacted with a collective breath of relief. Within seconds, they moved in, cutting the webbing carefully and securing the suspect in handcuffs. Around them, the once-tense crowd burst into applause; danger turned into celebration in an instant.
"That was incredible! Who are you?"
someone shouted. Others whistled, others cheered "Hero!"—though she had asked for no title.
Gwen returned the girl to her mother, who sobbed with gratitude, clutching her child tightly. For a fleeting second, Gwen simply watched—tears, relief, flashing cameras all blending into one fragile moment.
A strange warmth bloomed in her chest—a mix of pride and embarrassment. The public's admiration made her blush behind the mask. There was a distance between the person she was in daily life and the figure standing there now.
Someone started clapping, and soon the crowd joined in, a rising chorus of acknowledgment. Gwen smiled beneath the mask, feeling the spark of something new—purpose, alive and humming.
Without waiting for the spotlight to linger, she fired a web toward a nearby ledge, pulled herself up, and vanished into the urban maze—leaving behind murmurs, applause, and the growing storm of notifications spreading across the city.
---
Meanwhile, across town, Jean walked down the sidewalk. The day had been long; her mind was heavy with thoughts her telepathy refused to quiet. For a brief moment, she had used a faint brush of mental empathy to locate Arthur's address—a subtle, almost mechanical gesture.
She smiled faintly when she realized he still lived in the same place.
Just as she was about to hail a cab, something caught her attention—something flew overhead, too fast for a bird, too large for an insect.
She looked up, recognition flickering across her face.
"Why is she exposing herself so openly?"
Jean murmured, one eyebrow raised in concern. She had always been cautious about powered individuals showing themselves in public. Secrecy, after all, was still a shield for many.
But the figure was already gone. Jean hesitated—she could reach out with her mind, offer guidance.
Yet there was no danger, no hostility directed her way. So Jean chose to continue toward Arthur's apartment.
As she got into a taxi, digital trails began to spread—videos uploaded, rumors multiplying. The city, forever in search of something to soothe its collective fear, had found a new story to tell.
---
Gwen returned to the rooftop where it all began. She sat down, legs dangling, breathing hard. In her hand, the radio still whispered faint reports from the media.
She looked over the vast city below and, for a moment, allowed herself to relax. She didn't have a name yet—no official label for the figure she was becoming. There were suggestions already circulating online, but none felt truly hers. Gwen smiled at the thought.
"Maybe tomorrow I'll come up with a name," she mused, half-laughing. "Tonight, I just wanted to save someone."
Her heart still raced, a pleasant ache of adrenaline and wonder. She gazed at the horizon and felt the first weight of her new responsibility—sweet, terrifying, and vividly alive.
New York continued to breathe, and she, small yet fearless, had just leapt for the first time into her own story.
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."