The air smelled like ash and broken promises.
Ghost-Spider landed silently on the steel fire escape, scanning the smoke-choked windows of the abandoned tenement. Her visor pulsed with heat signatures. Inside, two adults and a child were huddled behind an overturned bookshelf. The building groaned beneath them—ready to fall at any moment.
"They're trapped on the fourth floor," Gwen said into the comm.
"I've got the structural weak points mapped," came Luffy's voice—calm, focused. "You take them out the side. I'll handle the beams."
She nodded, already moving.
A moment later, Strawhat launched himself from the adjacent rooftop. His body stretched across the alleyway, arms coiling like spring-loaded wires. He crashed through the upper floor like a wrecking ball of rubber and precision, landing between two collapsing support columns. Bracing himself, he shoved up with all his strength, his arms expanding outward to reinforce the frame.
"You're good," he grunted. "Move."
Gwen shot a line through the broken window and zipped inside. Her mask filtered the smoke as she reached the family.
"You're going to be okay," she said gently. She wrapped the child in an emergency stabilizer blanket and strapped both adults to a rigging harness she pulled from her belt. "Close your eyes. Trust me."
Moments later, they descended along a webline, Gwen guiding them through the air with a practiced grace. The fire curled at the building's base, but none of it reached them.
On the street, civilians gasped as the trio landed safely in the alley.
Gwen gave the mother a reassuring nod and vanished up the side of the building.
By the time firefighters arrived, all that remained were echoing sirens and smoke.
They returned to Field Alpha in silence.
The mission had gone perfectly, but they both wore the kind of stillness that came from years of repetition—life-saving work done in the shadows.
The base had grown.
Holograms flickered overhead, tracking local emergency feeds, news pings, and encrypted Horizon server alerts. The faint blue glow bathed Gwen's face as she reviewed the footage.
"No visual confirmation," she said. "No security cameras. Witnesses couldn't describe us clearly."
Luffy peeled off his gloves and tossed them into the charging rack. "They said it was angels this time."
"Or ghosts," Gwen added. "Depending on the neighborhood."
He looked over. "Do you ever wish they knew?"
Gwen considered it. "Sometimes. When they smile. When someone thanks the air. But… I also like being free to walk beside them. And they never know."
She turned to the Power Journal, opened to a fresh page.
Year Five Log, Entry One
We've become whispers. A myth wrapped in smoke. But every life we save writes our story in silence.
She capped her pen and exhaled. Luffy tossed her a water bottle.
"You didn't burn this time."
"That's because I didn't run face-first into fire like someone else."
"Worked though, didn't it?"
They shared a smile.
Later that morning, Gwen stepped into her family's kitchen to the sound of clinking dishes.
George Stacy stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease.
"You're up early," he said.
"Didn't sleep much," Gwen replied. "We've got a Horizon demo later. Nerves."
He nodded. "Big launch. Your mother would've been proud."
Gwen smiled faintly. The ache never fully went away.
They sat down together. The television played softly in the background—a news segment on the fire from earlier.
"...witnesses say figures were seen near the building before it collapsed. One child claimed a girl with glowing eyes carried him to safety. There is still no confirmation..."
George muted the TV.
"They're back," he said casually.
"Who?"
"The shadows. Ghosts. Whatever the media's calling them these days."
Gwen stabbed her pancake with more force than needed. "Weird how they always vanish."
"You know," George said, watching her carefully, "there were years where I didn't believe. But now? I think I'm convinced. Not by footage. By patterns. Behavior."
She looked up slowly.
"Whoever they are," he continued, "they're not reckless. Not hungry for fame. They save people and disappear. That's not a criminal. That's someone who believes in the city more than it believes in itself."
Gwen kept her voice steady. "Sounds like a pretty lonely job."
George reached over and squeezed her hand. "I just hope they're not kids. That kind of weight? It's not meant for people who haven't lived yet."
"Yeah," Gwen whispered. "Me too."
Midday sun spilled across the chrome glass walls of Horizon Futureworks.
Inside the main presentation chamber, tech journalists buzzed with anticipation. The Horizon symbol—sleek, clean, and future-forward—illuminated the stage.
Gwen walked out first, dressed in a sharply tailored gray blazer and black slacks. Luffy followed in matching tones, quiet, hands in his pockets.
"Thank you all for joining us," Gwen said, voice clear and calm. "Today we unveil Horizon's new Compact Emergency Medpod—a foldable trauma stabilizer that fits inside a glove box. It's designed for civilians, paramedics, and disaster zones. It activates on voice command and keeps trauma victims alive long enough for help to arrive."
A large 3D model appeared behind her, rotating slowly. The press murmured in appreciation.
Luffy stepped forward. "We built this because we've seen how quickly lives can be lost—between the fall and the ambulance, between the explosion and the rescue. This isn't just tech. It's time. Time that saves lives."
The room erupted in applause.
A few reporters tried to dig deeper—"What inspired this? Have either of you ever witnessed an emergency firsthand?"—but Gwen smiled, deflecting with ease.
"We just listen to the city," she said. "And we design what it needs."
That evening, they stood side by side on the edge of a rooftop, watching the sun bleed into the skyline.
Below, the city thrummed with life—cars honking, lights flickering, laughter spilling from sidewalk cafés.
Gwen leaned on Luffy's shoulder.
"Five years," she said. "We've saved thousands. Built a company. Dodged every camera."
"And still have all our limbs," Luffy added. "Somehow."
She chuckled. "You ever think about stopping? About… just being us?"
"I think about it," he said. "But then I see someone almost die. And I remember why we can't."
She nodded slowly.
"But I do think about having one moment. Just one where we don't have to hide. Where we can look someone in the eye and say—yes, we did this. We were there."
Luffy reached into his coat and pulled out a small charm—a metallic straw hat etched with their symbol. He placed it gently on the ledge.
"Maybe one day," he said. "When it's time."
The two of them stood there in silence, the city sprawling below.
A place forever unaware.
And forever protected.