Chapter Text
The night in New York City seemed ordinary. Lit windows formed squares of light across the towering buildings, the streets remained illuminated as usual, and cars moved steadily through the avenues while conversations echoed along the sidewalks.
It was the kind of night that would disappear from the collective memory before dawn.
And yet, that night, a small event had disrupted that normality in a rather curious way.
A university show was taking place at a bar that was relatively popular among local students, located only a few blocks from Nevermore University, where Wednesday Addams studied. The place was crowded, stuffy, and vibrating with loud music, students far too excited for an ordinary Thursday night, and glasses clinking against worn wooden tables.
Among the musicians performing that night was a student from the university itself: Enid Sinclair.
Wednesday vaguely recognized her. Not because they were friends—they had never exchanged more than a few seconds of shared silence in the campus hallways—but because the name of the band, The Mary Janes, circulated frequently among Nevermore students.
And Wednesday Addams was there for a reason she considered deeply questionable.
The responsibility fell almost entirely on Pugsley Addams. Her younger brother had decided to visit her that week and, for reasons Wednesday classified as “scientifically suspicious,” had suddenly developed a fascination with loud university bands.
He had insisted that the performance would be “interesting.”
Wednesday profoundly disagreed.
She had no appreciation whatsoever for bars, loud music, or excessively happy crowds. Still, Pugsley had an inconvenient habit of conducting potentially dangerous experiments whenever inadequately supervised.
Therefore, for purely preventive reasons, she had agreed to accompany him.
A few minutes after they entered the bar, Pugsley disappeared into the crowd, probably investigating electrical equipment or testing some theory about the structural resistance of speaker cabinets.
Wednesday remained where she was.
Leaning against the wall farthest from the stage, she observed the surroundings with the enthusiasm characteristic of a stone.
On the small improvised stage, The Mary Janes were finishing their final song of the night. Behind the drums, Enid Sinclair commanded the rhythm with contagious energy. The drumsticks moved quickly in her hands as her blonde hair followed every beat, and a smile appeared naturally on her face as the small crowd cheered along with every measure.
Many people would have said it was difficult to look anywhere else on the stage while she played.
Wednesday Addams, naturally, was not looking at her.
Her gaze was fixed on the clock hanging on the wall.
9:13 p.m.
The song ended, and the audience responded with enthusiastic applause. Students talked loudly, ordered drinks, and discussed the show while the band began packing up their instruments on the small improvised stage.
Enid was still behind the drums, twirling one of the sticks between her fingers while laughing at something one of her bandmates had said.
Then the sound came from the street.
A sharp impact.
Metal against concrete.
The entire bar reacted at once. Some people turned immediately; others took a second to understand what they had heard.
Outside, a car had lost control at the intersection, mounting the sidewalk and crashing into the storefront of a small shop. A streetlight had partially collapsed, scattering cables and sparks across the road.
Two pedestrians were trapped between the car and the debris from the damaged facade.
The crowd moved toward the door.
Wednesday instinctively scanned the room, looking for her brother, who was still missing somewhere in the chaos, probably drawn toward the possibility of watching an accident up close.
But another detail caught her attention first.
Enid was no longer on the stage.
She had not crossed the room. She had not gone through the main entrance. Wednesday had not seen her leave through the back either.
The blonde had simply disappeared the moment danger appeared.
Outside, some people were trying to help while others were merely filming. Before any real intervention could take place, something white shot from a nearby rooftop.
A thin, flexible line cut through the air and attached itself to the car's bumper.
With a quick pull, the vehicle shifted several inches—just enough to free the two pedestrians trapped between the metal and the debris.
The figure responsible landed on the hood of the car with almost absurd lightness.
The suit was predominantly white, with black details and vibrant pink-and-blue patterns. The hood completely concealed the figure's head beneath a mask bearing a stylized spider pattern.
The familiar figure landed on the hood of the car with almost absurd lightness.
The suit was predominantly white, with black details and vibrant pink-and-blue patterns. The hood of the suit fluttered slightly in the breeze, framing a mask of icy white, completely devoid of a mouth or nose. In place of eyes were two large almond-shaped lenses, outlined in intense neon pink, seemingly glowing with an energy of their own.
The heroine quickly looked around to make sure no one was injured.
“Okay, everyone in one piece?” she asked, helping one of the pedestrians to their feet. “Great. I really didn't want to deal with paperwork today.”
Several people stood frozen for a second, trying to process what they had just witnessed.
Then they began to react.
“Oh my God, it's her!”
“Ghost-Spider!”
“Dude, record this!”
Phones appeared almost immediately.
The heroine noticed and gave a casual little wave.
“Hey, no bad angles, guys. My reputation depends on this.”
A few people laughed as they continued filming. A firefighter who had just arrived began directing the crowd away from the damaged vehicle.
Ghost-Spider took two steps back, quickly assessing the situation. When she realized the first responders were already taking control, she fired a web line toward the building beside them.
“You guys can handle this part. I'm more of a dramatic entrances-and-exits kind of person,” she commented, waving her hands.
The next instant, she was pulled upward and disappeared among the rooftops in one fluid movement.
The street remained chaotic for a few moments. People excitedly discussed what had happened, while others continued trying to film the surrounding buildings in the hope of catching another glimpse of the heroine.
Wednesday watched everything in silence, largely unimpressed by the heroine's unexpected appearance.
But then, a small movement at the side of the street caught her attention.
A few meters away, a narrow alley opened between two commercial buildings. The lighting was dim, barely reaching the entrance of the passageway.
A figure emerged from it.
Enid Sinclair.
She was walking far too quickly for someone who supposedly had remained inside the bar the entire time. As she walked, she hurriedly pulled her jacket down, as though trying to adjust something underneath her clothes.
For one very brief second, the fabric of her shirt lifted.
Wednesday saw enough.
A fragment of white fabric appeared beneath the jacket, marked by a curved line in pink and blue—the exact same colors that had just disappeared among the rooftops.
The detail lasted less than a second before Enid adjusted her clothes completely.
The blonde then slowed her pace, took a deep breath, and headed toward the bar's side entrance.
Pugsley finally reappeared near the main entrance, watching the street with enthusiasm.
“That was incredible,” he muttered as he tried to get a better look at the accident beside her.
A few minutes later, purely out of instinct, Wednesday returned inside the bar to observe the surroundings more carefully.
The stage was empty, but the instruments were still there. Amplifiers remained switched on. The drums were untouched.
And then Enid reappeared nineteen minutes later.
She entered through the side door with her hair slightly disheveled, her breathing uneven as she adjusted her clothes.
“Did something happen?” she asked, displaying genuine curiosity toward her bandmates as if nothing had happened at all.
To most of the people present, it meant exactly what it appeared to mean.
Nothing.
To Wednesday Addams, however, that tiny fragment of white fabric with pink-and-blue lines had already been more than enough.
Coincidences were rarely accidental.
And that was the moment the investigation began.
The following morning, the incident was already circulating across the internet. Videos of the rescue appeared on several social media platforms, and several frozen frames clearly showed the heroine's suit: predominantly white, with black details and the vibrant pink-and-blue lines that had already appeared in previous recordings of the vigilante.
Ghost-Spider was not a stranger to the city. Small rescues, quick interventions, and occasional appearances had been recorded before. In nearly every video, the heroine seemed surprisingly friendly for someone who spent most of her time wearing a mask.
Wednesday had no particular interest in superheroes.
But the possibility of unmasking a superhero almost made Wednesday smile.
Fortunately, Addams possessed something that most university students would consider impossible: free time.
Not because she lacked assignments, but because she was excessively efficient. Most of the semester's coursework had been completed within the first few weeks, and some professors had simply accepted that Wednesday would submit every assignment long before its deadline.
That left room for genuinely important activities.
Such as the investigation.
During the first few days, Wednesday merely observed.
Fortunately, this was not difficult. Enid Sinclair was also a student at Nevermore University, which meant they shared hallways, classrooms, libraries, and practically every academic space on campus.
The first curious detail appeared during the second class of the week.
During a particularly lengthy Comparative Literature lecture, Enid raised her hand with a polite smile and asked permission to leave for a few minutes. She claimed she needed to take care of something quickly with the department office.
She left.
She did not return.
Twenty minutes later, a video began circulating through the student group chats.
Ghost-Spider had stopped a bicycle theft two blocks from the university.
Coincidence noted.
Over the following days, small variations of the same pattern began to emerge.
Enid would disappear during short breaks between classes. Sometimes she said she needed to retrieve something from the dormitory. On other occasions, she mentioned vague commitments involving the band or academic meetings that apparently no one else knew about.
The truly interesting detail was that these disappearances almost always coincided with minor incidents reported around campus: a theft interrupted, an accident prevented, a quick rescue—all carried out by Ghost-Spider, with footage of her activity being posted online only minutes later.
The coincidence was noted.
The next test was deliberate.
During a break between classes, Wednesday was watching the main hallway of the academic building while Enid walked several meters ahead, chatting animatedly with two classmates.
The moment the blonde passed one of the columns in the hallway, something caught Wednesday's attention.
For a brief second, an extremely thin strand crossed the space between the wall and Enid's backpack.
Almost invisible.
Almost.
Enid continued walking normally until, two steps later, her backpack was tugged slightly backward, as if something had caught onto it.
She stopped abruptly and turned around.
Then she discreetly pulled something from her shoulder.
The gesture was far too quick for a distracted person to notice.
But Wednesday was watching.
Between Enid's fingers was a translucent strand stretching from the wall of the hallway.
Elastic.
Sticky.
Webbing.
Enid quickly looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, pulled the strand away from the wall, and wound it around her fingers before throwing it into a nearby trash can.
“Strange...” she murmured, as though it were nothing more than an ordinary piece of dirt.
Then she resumed talking with her friends and continued down the hallway.
Wednesday remained still for several seconds, observing the small residue that was still clinging to the wall.
Transparent.
Slightly shimmering beneath the fluorescent lights.
She wrote it down in her notebook.
Not every observation took place under ideal conditions.
On one occasion, Wednesday attempted to observe Enid's nighttime movements from the roof of the student dormitory.
The plan worked perfectly for the first twenty seconds.
On the twenty-first, an old roof tile gave way beneath her feet.
The incident resulted in an administrative report, a formal warning from the university, and an unnecessarily long conversation with the building's maintenance supervisor.
This particular event was completely omitted from her notes.
Despite that, the investigation continued.
After two weeks, Wednesday had filled thirty-two pages with observations.
On page thirty-three, she wrote only one sentence:
Hypothesis: Enid Sinclair is Ghost-Spider.
She stared at the sentence for several seconds.
Hypotheses required verification.
The only problem was that Enid Sinclair talked too much. A direct interrogation would probably result in lengthy answers and useless conclusions.
Wednesday needed a controlled environment.
No distractions.
No audience.
No escape routes.
She slowly closed the notebook.
The plan began to take shape quite simply.
A casual invitation?
A drink?
A quiet location?
Wednesday opened the notebook again and wrote two words on the following page.
“Verification Plan.”
On the line below, she added the final step.
“Temporary kidnapping.”
She stared at the sentence for several seconds before closing the notebook.
Hypotheses required confirmation.
And Wednesday Addams had always preferred direct methods.