Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Don sat at the far end of the table, picking at his food more than actually eating. His mind wasn't entirely present. With everything going on, between Winter's introduction and his upcoming plans, it was hard to focus on trivial small talk. He appreciated that the others were more interested in the android than him—it provided some relief.

"So, Winter," Summer leaned in, balancing her chin on her hands, curiosity bubbling. "How fast can you run?"

Winter looked up from the plate of food she hadn't touched—an unnecessary gesture but one Don had decided was a good idea for appearances. "I am capable of reaching speeds of up to seventy-five miles per hour on foot. However, this may vary depending on terrain and environmental conditions."

Summer's eyes widened. "Seventy-five? That's insane!"

"That's not even a car, that's a freakin' racecar," Amanda chimed in between sips of wine, clearly impressed.

Don watched quietly, observing how Winter handled the barrage of questions. She answered each one without fuss. For once, it was kind of nice to fade into the background, letting the spotlight stay on someone—or something—else.

Samantha, smiling faintly, leaned back in her chair. "I guess having someone like Winter around could make us feel a lot safer, huh?"

"Absolutely," Don responded, more out of reflex than anything. His mind was still elsewhere, already calculating the next moves he had to make as Predator. 'Take out the Hell Riders or establish control, then…' His thoughts trailed as Amanda interrupted the quiet moment.

She swirled the remaining wine in her glass with a smirk. "So, who's up for another movie night?"

**Clink.** Summer's fork hit her plate as she immediately shot Don a look, clearly recalling what had happened the last time a movie night was suggested. Before she could say a word, Samantha spoke up.

"Actually, I think we should all get to bed early tonight. We're going to church tomorrow."

Summer grimaced like she'd just bitten into a lemon. "Church?" she muttered, slumping back in her chair.

Amanda blinked in disbelief, pausing mid-sip. "Church? Seriously? Even me?"

Don raised a brow, surprised himself. The family didn't exactly give off a religious vibe. But this presented an opportunity for him to slip away earlier than planned without arousing suspicion.

He quickly adjusted his expression and nodded in support. "Great idea, Mom. We should all get some rest for that."

Samantha gave him a puzzled look, clearly caught off guard by his sudden show of enthusiasm. "Uh… thanks, Donnie?"

Summer wasn't buying it. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing at Don. "Since when did you like church? You used to fake having diarrhea every Sunday just to get out of it."

Amanda snorted, barely containing her laughter. "Oh yeah, I remember that! You hated church more than anything, and Summer couldn't stand Sunday school."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Summer grumbled, rolling her eyes at the memory.

Don stood up, stretching his arms in an exaggerated yawn. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it off. Anyway, I'm heading to bed early, so I have enough time for my morning routine." He shot a lazy wave toward the group. "Goodnight, everyone."

"Morning routine?" Summer raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Since when do you even have one of those?"

Don ignored her, adding as he walked toward the stairs, "Oh, and don't come wake me up unless it's an emergency. I'll be up in time, I promise."

He could feel Summer's suspicious gaze burning into the back of his head, but he didn't look back.

Before leaving the room entirely, Don turned to Winter. "Stay downstairs and keep familiarizing yourself with the place. And don't answer any more questions from Summer until I say so. Just in case she tries sneaking out at night to play twenty questions."

"Hey!" Summer protested, crossing her arms defensively. "I wouldn't do that."

Don shot her a cheeky smile. "Then you won't mind the order." He winked. "Goodnight."

Winter nodded, her expression unchanged. "Affirmative. Orders received."

Satisfied, Don turned and headed up the stairs. and he made his way to his room. Once inside, he shut the door with a click and leaned against it, exhaling deeply.

Glancing at his watch, he saw the time: 10:47 p.m.

'Still early,' he thought, his fingers brushing over the watch's face. 'Might as well do a final review of everything before heading out.'

Don immersed himself in the data, scanning through reports, maps, and profiles as Gary Assist displayed them in his augmented view. Time slipped by unnoticed until **ding**—a soft notification chimed at 11:44 p.m., drawing his attention to a message from Gary.

"Everything is in place, sir," the message read. "You'll find a car waiting at the marked location."

Don sighed, glancing at the time. Less than a 20 minutes until midnight. Despite all his meticulous planning, a flicker of anxiety tugged at him. His mind wandered back to the last time he wore the Predator suit—the intoxicating rush of power, the detached, almost ruthless precision with which he'd taken out the Hell Riders. No hesitation, no remorse. Just cold efficiency.

He pushed the lingering unease aside, muttering quietly to himself, "Enshroud."

The strange tattoo on his wrist seemed to pulse, then expand, stretching over his skin like liquid shadow. The tendrils crawled up his arm, enveloping his body entirely until the Predator suit formed around him.

With a flick of his wrist, Don raised his hand toward the door. **Click.** A shadow tendril materialized from the darkness near the door and twisted into the lock, securing it. His figure then blurred for a moment before vanishing entirely into the dark corner of the room.

**Whoosh.**

He reappeared beneath the faint glow of a streetlamp, the light barely casting a circle on the pavement beneath. The cold air of the night brushed against the fabric of his suit as he stood at the edge of the Chanel Hills community. The familiar darkness welcomed him like an old friend.

'This is about the limit,' he thought, glancing around at his surroundings. Moving between shadows had its distance constraints, and this was as far as he could push it in one jump.

He remained still for only a few seconds before vanishing again, disappearing into the shadows with barely a sound. **Whirr.** When he reappeared, it was in a quiet, dark street lined with parked cars.

Don scanned the rows of vehicles, his sharp eyes quickly zeroing in on a black car with the number plate Gary had indicated. His suit retreated into its tattoo form as he approached the car casually, opening the door and slipping inside.

The interior was familiar—clean and driverless. As soon as he settled into the seat, the screen in front of him flickered to life. Gary's face appeared, standing in what looked like an unfamiliar office, papers strewn across the desk behind him. He glanced at his watch, then smiled at Don.

"That was quick," Gary said, adjusting his tie. "Looks like we're ahead of schedule."

Don leaned back, resting one hand on his chin. "I'd rather be early than unprepared."

Gary nodded, pleased. "That's the spirit. This gives us some time to finalize your plan. From the intel I sent over, have you decided which Hell Riders storage spot to hit?"

"The warehouse by the Santos City docks," Don answered immediately. "Causing a commotion there will draw more attention. The police will have a harder time covering it up, and it'll affect operations for other gangs and organizations that depend on it. It'll put the Hell Riders in a tough spot."

Gary raised an eyebrow, nodding in approval. "A brilliant objective, but understandably tricky to pull off."

"I know," Don replied. "But it'll leave them weak enough to either crush or take over quietly. That's the goal."

"Ambitious," Gary said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "But if anyone can pull it off, it's you. I'll be on standby to provide support if needed. The vehicle will drop you off at a nearby location, close enough for infiltration. Good luck, sir."

The screen went dark as the car began to move smoothly through the streets. Don sat in silence, watching the city lights blur past the windows.

Less than 20 minutes later, the car slowed to a halt in a dimly lit area not far from the docks. But Don wasn't planning to walk out the front door.

He muttered, "Enshroud," and **shoom**, the Predator suit formed around him once more before he vanished right there and then in the car.

———

**The faint hum of dock machinery** filled the air as Don reappeared in the shadows between two large shipping containers. His glowing white eyes scanned the area, his vision adjusting to the low light.

The docks were vast, a maze of crates, warehouses, and parked trucks, all dimly lit by flickering overhead lights.

He moved quietly, his footsteps absorbed by the darkness as he moved from shadow to shadow. He paused behind a stack of crates, listening to the faint murmur of voices nearby.

"I'm tellin' ya, something's off tonight," one of the guards muttered, lighting a cigarette. His voice was low but audible.

"You're paranoid, man," his partner replied, leaning against a truck. "Just another quiet night at the docks. Nothing ever happens here."

Don stayed still, blending perfectly with the shadows. He didn't need to take them out—just avoid them. He waited, patient, watching as they finished their conversation and moved on, walking further down the dock.

Once they were out of earshot, Don slipped through the narrow space between the crates, continuing his silent approach. He had memorized the rough layout of the docks from the files Gary provided, and he knew the Hell Riders' warehouse was nearby—he just needed to confirm which one.

As he moved, he spotted another pair of guards standing outside one of the larger warehouses. They were armed, but not heavily. It was a subtle tell—this had to be the place.

'This has to be it,' Don thought, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the exterior. The guards didn't seem particularly alert, just standing there talking casually.

He remained hidden in the shadows, inching closer until he was within earshot of their conversation.

"Boss says we gotta move the shipment tomorrow," one guard was saying. "Some big deal went down, and now they're pushing up the timeline."

"Great," the other guard groaned. "More overtime."

Don's suspicions were confirmed. This was the Hell Riders' main stash at the docks. It was time to move.