Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don's bedroom was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of sheets as Don shifted his position on the edge of his bed. The dim light from his bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, creating a contemplative atmosphere.

**Click**

Don's earbuds crackled as Gary cleared his throat on the other end.

"If I may begin, sir," Gary's voice came through clearly. "I've received some rather interesting intelligence from several of my contacts in the information trade."

Don leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he listened intently

"The Hell Riders gang appears to be orchestrating a significant movement of their product today," Gary continued. "They're utilizing multiple routes, each leading to designated stash houses."

Don's eyebrows furrowed a little as he processed this information. He stood up and began pacing, his bare feet silent against the plush carpet. "I didn't think they'd recover so quickly," he muttered, running a finger across his chin and rubbing it.

**Hmmmm**

Gary's thoughtful hum carried a note of concern. "I don't think they have, if I'm being quite honest, sir Don." There was a pause, and when Gary spoke again, his tone had shifted to one of careful suspicion.

"I just find it strange how quickly all this is happening. It could either be a desperate attempt on their part or a trap." Another pause followed before he added, "I highly suspect the latter."

Don stopped his pacing and moved to lean against the wall next to the bed, crossing his arms. The cool surface pressed against his back through his thin t-shirt as he considered Gary's words.

"You're probably right," he acknowledged, then pushed off from the wall to return to his perch on the bed's edge. "So what do you think? Is it worth checking out?"

The silence that followed seemed to stretch for several heartbeats before Gary responded. "I cannot split the two sides of the risk, so this decision is entirely up to you, sir Don."

'Is he testing me?' Don thought to himself, absently picking at a loose thread on his pants.

As a new supervillain, he'd come to rely heavily on Gary's guidance, viewing the butler as an endless fountain of criminal wisdom.

But now, faced with this ambiguous response, he couldn't help but wonder if Gary was genuinely uncertain or simply allowing Don to exercise his own judgment.

Don straightened his posture, a decision crystallizing in his mind. "In that case," he said firmly, "I'd like to check it out."

----

The night air hung heavy with the scent of motor oil and rust as Don stood motionless in a narrow alleyway.

His Predator suit, black as pitch, seemed to drink in what little light filtered through from the distant street lamps.

The time had just ticked past 10 PM, and this particular industrial district, known as the Burrows, had settled into its nocturnal scene.

**Vrrrrrm** A car rolled past the alley's entrance, its headlights briefly illuminating the cramped space before plunging it back into darkness.

Don shifted his weight, his feet crunching softly against broken glass and cigarette butts. Around him, overflowing garbage bins lined the walls, stuffed with discarded auto parts and empty cardboard boxes.

"I'm here," Don's voice, altered by the mask, came out as a deep, resonant growl. He leaned against one of the bins, crossing his arms as he waited for Gary's response through an earbud he still had on under the mask.

"Brilliant, sir," Gary's crisp voice crackled through. "According to the information we have, the packages the Hell Riders moved through the entire east side are being stored at a garage compound beyond the road."

Don tilted his head, listening intently as Gary continued his briefing about Greg Holdings and his son's connection to the Deadly Damsels. The shadows around Don's form began to writhe and move like smoke in a gentle breeze, responding to his growing focus.

**Clang** A distant metal door slammed shut somewhere in the industrial complex, making Don's head snap toward the sound. After a moment, he relaxed his stance.

"It's a shaky connection but definitely has reasonable merit," Don muttered in response, pushing off from the bin and taking a few steps forward with the shadows following his movement like loyal pets. "Let me first do a sweep of the compound and just check things out. I should be able to see whether or not this is a trap without alerting anyone."

The deep timbre of his modified voice echoed slightly off the narrow walls as a slight breeze stirred up some papers, sending them skittering across the cracked concrete at his feet.

"Not a bad idea, sir," Gary responded, the sound of rapid typing audible in the background. "In the meantime, I'll see if I can manage to hack into that particular area's electricals so we can cut the lights."

Under his mask, Don's lips curved into a smile. The golden accents of his suit caught the dim light as he rolled his shoulders, preparing for action. "You do that. I'll get started on my end as well."

**Whoosh**

The shadows around Don suddenly surged, wrapping around him like a cocoon. In the span of a heartbeat, his form dissolved into the darkness, leaving behind only wisping tendrils of shadow that gradually faded into nothingness.

----

Don reappeared at the security checkpoint, his form practically invisible as he studied the setup from the shadows.

The booth was a simple metal and glass structure, illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Inside, a lanky guard with a patchy beard reclined in his chair, boots propped on the console.

His colleague, a shorter man with a crew cut and weathered face, stood by the gate taking long drags from his cigarette.

**whoosh**

The standing guard flinched as a cold breeze hit his neck. "What the-" he slapped at his skin, his cigarette tumbling to the ground.

His partner bolted upright, chair squeaking. "Everything alright out there?"

Examining his empty palm, the first guard clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Nothing, just a mosquito."

"Jesus," the booth guard slumped back down, wiping his forehead. "You had me worried. Those cars here on special order are making me nervous."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Shut up man," the first guard warned, crushing his fallen cigarette under his boot. "Remember, we're just guards. We didn't hear anything strange, we didn't see anything strange."

The booth guard nodded slowly, sinking deeper into his chair. "Yeah... you're right."

Behind the booth, Don materialized briefly in the shadows, processing their exchange. 'Not much intel here,' he thought before vanishing again.

Over the next hour, Don's form flickered between locations throughout the compound.

He appeared behind stacked crates as two guards discussed their weekend plans. He then materialized in the rafters of Garage C while a maintenance worker complained about overtime.

Each new position revealed fragments of conversation but nothing substantial.

Finally, Don emerged on a darkened rooftop, crouching low as voices carried across from the adjacent building.

Two massive guards stood smoking, their muscled frames adorned with prison-style neck tattoos. Their full beards and hard eyes spoke of a rougher background than the average security detail Don had seen around, despite them wearing the same uniform.

"This bait even gonna work?" the first one questioned, passing a cigarette to his partner. "Feels like I'm bustin' my ass for nothin'."

The second guard took a long drag, his knuckle tattoos visible in the ember's glow. "Who knows, brother. Better than sittin' with our thumbs up our asses while our boys keep gettin' picked off."

"Heh, true that." The first guard chuckled darkly, cracking his neck. "When I catch the motherfucker whose been messin' with our operation..." He drew his thumb across his throat. "Gonna make him wish he never crossed the Family."

His partner grunted in agreement, flicking ash over the edge. "Gonna be one hell of a party when we do."

Don remained motionless in the shadows, a smile forming beneath his mask. 'Found you.'