This had been harder than he’d thought.

Chuuya was a Port Mafia executive, not a particularly normal job, but it came with a few things. Asides from a hefty fucking paycheck, access to a fuck-ton of drugs and weapons and a bunch of other shit, it came with dealing with the absolute bullshit this man—Spider-Man—put the Mafia through.

He was unpredictable for one. It was almost impossible to figure out what front he was going to hit, what he knew about and what he didn’t, and just his fighting style in general. Spider-Man could be fifty feet away from you, fighting another guy, and then he was suddenly on you with only a few seconds to avoid a kick to the face.

Annoying. His quips got under Chuuya’s skin. His invisibility made him impossible to track accurately, and he moved too quickly to actually get a tracker on him.

He wasn’t obsessed with catching the bastard. He just wanted to be done dealing with his shit.

They’d finally managed to catch him. It took so many more men than they’d expected and Chuuya had certainly been put through ringer to actually catch the fucker, but they’d done it.

Plenty on guns were aimed at the figure. Slender, tall form in a black suit—spandex, form-fitting—with light blue webbing and a raised black spider on the chest and a featureless mask with symmetrical curved teardrop-like eye lenses hanging upside down with his legs tangled in his own webs. Ironic.

“Is the spider caught on his own webs?” Chuuya taunted, sauntering closer to him.

“How about we finally see the face of the bastard who’s been causing us all this trouble?” He asked and looked around at the faces of his men. They shouted their agreement, cheering at the idea of unmasking the spider.

Even through the mask, Chuuya could see the absolute terror on Spider-Man’s face. And it made him feel powerful. In control. He chuckled.

Chuuya reached a hand towards Spider-Man, towards his mask and flinched when his forearm was grabbed firmly by the spider.