Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 553: A Busy Night (Part 5)

Several minutes later, the Mustang rolled back into the parking lot of Ash’s apartment building.

Ash straightened from the slouched position she’d kept the whole ride, leather creasing as she turned toward him. "So..." She hesitated. "What’s next?"

Don didn’t answer right away. He eased the car into a spot, killed the engine, then nodded toward the dash.

"Open the glove box."

She did.

Her eyes widened.

Inside sat a revolver—heavy, old-school, steel frame with a long barrel and thick cylinder. Not flashy. Beside it lay a single key, plain.

Ash took the gun first, lifting it with care. The weight surprised her. She rolled it in her palm, checked the chamber by habit. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"Whoa—wait a minute," she said. "Is this thing packing...?"

Don nodded. "Superhuman rounds. But it’ll take standard ammo too."

Her brows climbed. She glanced back into the glove box, then down at the floor. "Seriously?"

"There’s more under your seat."

She leaned down and pulled out a small black bag. Unzipped it.

Clips. Full. Neatly packed.

A grin tugged at her mouth before she caught herself. She looked back at him, confusion creeping in alongside the excitement.

"...And the key?"

"It’s for an apartment," Don said. He rattled off a street name and an address without pause. "You’ll lay low there."

"My place is fine," Ash started. "I—"

"I’m not asking," Don cut in. His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. "I’m telling you. You move there by morning."

She held his gaze for a second.

Then she exhaled. "Fine. Yeah. I get it."

Don nodded once. "Good. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up."

Ash opened the door and stepped out, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

"Uh—wait," she said. "Do you even have my number? You know. So you can warn me instead of just showing up late at night?"

Don didn’t answer.

He started the engine.

The Mustang pulled away, tires rolling smooth as he left her standing there.

Ash stared after the car, jaw set.

"...Ugh," she muttered. "I hope he doesn’t think I was making a move." She shook her head. "Fuck."

She looked down at the key in her hand.

Then at the bag.

"Fuck," she said again, hoisting the strap higher on her shoulder as she headed inside.

———

The city blurred past Don as he drove, lights thinning as he cut toward home.

Suddenly infotainment system chimed.

"Answer," he said.

Gary’s voice came through clean and calm. "Greetings, sir. GPS indicates you’re still on the road?"

"Yes," Don replied. "Heading back now."

"I see. We’ve completed a full perimeter sweep of the location. Winter is concluding her interior scan. Thus far, nothing of note."

A brief pause.

Winter’s voice joined the call. "I may be overlooking something. Operating solely through an ocular unit is... limiting. I recommend a direct inspection."

"I could deploy a minion to assist," Gary offered.

"No," Don said immediately. "The coordinates were sent to Winter. That means they’re meant for her. Or for me."

He adjusted his grip on the wheel.

"The message didn’t read hostile. If it isn’t, sending anyone else risks exposing more than we should."

Another pause.

"Stay put," Don continued. "I’ll come help Winter look through it myself."

"As you say, sir," Gary replied. "We’ll remain nearby in case circumstances change."

The call ended.

Don drove on, eyes forward, mind already shifting gears.

———

Nearly half an hour later, Don pulled in along the road that cut across the hillside.

The plant loomed ahead, half-swallowed by elevation and neglect. Floodlights mounted decades ago sat dead and rusted, their poles leaning at tired angles. The main gate stood shut, chains wrapped tight through bent steel slats.

Don parked a short distance away and stepped out, hoodie down now, air cool against his neck.

Across the street, partially hidden by brush and a collapsed retaining wall, he caught the outline of a black sedan. Gary’s car. Idling. Waiting.

Don turned back to the gate.

He tested it once. Locked. Solid enough.

He set his feet, planted a hand against the metal, and pushed harder.

The gate gave with a groan—steel screaming as the chain tore loose from a weakened post. The whole thing swung inward and slammed against the fence with a heavy CLANG~.

Don stepped through.

Inside, the compound felt finished in the wrong way. Not abandoned mid-process, not frozen during work—but wrapped up and left behind. Assembly rails sat cleanly severed. Power conduits had been capped instead of torn out. Floors were bare concrete, swept once upon a time and never again.

He touched his ear.

"Winter."

Her voice came through immediately. "Proceed forward twenty-seven steps. Turn left at the collapsed conveyor. Continue until the third support column."

Don followed without comment.

His eyes stayed active, scanning rooftops, broken windows, open corridors. Beastshift sat just beneath the surface—senses stretched outward, searching for anything that didn’t belong.

Nothing moved.

"Turn right," Winter continued. "Pass the main fabrication hall. You will see a service path branching downhill."

The air changed as he moved deeper. Cooler. Heavier. The smell of old oil and oxidized metal hung low.

"Descend the service path. Twelve steps down. Then proceed straight."

At the bottom, a detached structure came into view.

It was small. Square. Utility-grade. One story tall with no windows. Its walls were steel plates bolted together, surface rough with corrosion, paint flaking in wide patches.

A single door sat centered on the front, reinforced, its keypad mounted crookedly beside it. Several buttons were cracked. The casing around it looked like it had been struck more than once.

Don stopped a few feet out.

Above him, a shape drifted into place.

Winter’s ocular unit hovered down, rotor whining low—until it steadied in the air overhead.

"Welcome," her voice said through its speakers.

Don glanced up, then back to the door.

"I believe the coordinates pertain to this structure," Winter added.

Don’s eyes shifted as Beastshift engaged fully. He studied the building—its lines, its weight, the way it sat against the ground.

"Not seeing anything special," he said. "What makes you think that?"

"I am detecting faint emissions," Winter replied. "Residual nuclear radiation. Minimal. Localized. Originating beneath this building."

Don’s brow lifted.

"I attempted direct penetration earlier," she continued, "but the internal shell is composed of a dense alloy with high resistance to radiation, heat, and kinetic stress. It is not something I can compromise remotely."

A soft projection flared from the drone, outlining the building in wireframe. One layer glowed brighter than the rest.

"However," Winter said, "the exterior is coated with a secondary material. Durable, but prone to corrosion. Its purpose appears cosmetic—to disguise the value of what lies beneath."

Don studied the image, then the door.

"So," he asked, "can it be breached with force?"

"Yes," Winter answered. "This outer layer would yield without significant effort."

His gaze dropped to the keypad.

"But that shouldn’t be necessary," she added.

Don tilted his head slightly. "You think it still works?"

"I do," Winter said. "I am detecting low-level electrical activity. Attempt a code entry."

"What code?"

She paused for less than a second.

Then began reciting numbers.

A long string. Exact.

Don’s fingers moved as she spoke, pressing each digit in sequence. The keypad flickered, old lights struggling to respond.

Halfway through, he stopped.

"...Wait," he said. "Those are—"

"Yes," Winter confirmed. "They are the coordinates of this location."

Don exhaled through his nose and resumed typing.

"Is it a puzzle?" he asked.

"I do not believe so," Winter replied. "This appears to be a system protocol."

"What makes you say that?" Don asked, entering the final digits.

"Because," Winter said, "prior to my updates, several of my minor internal systems used my current coordinates as codes."

The keypad chimed softly.

CLICK~

Then the door unlocked with a tired CLICK~ and swung inward.

Don stepped through first. Winter hovered in behind him, then rose a little higher once they cleared the threshold, her ocular unit lifting toward the ceiling as her sensors came online.

The place was a workshop. An old one.

Long benches lined the walls, each cluttered with half-finished assemblies—android arms laid open at the forearm, torsos missing plating, exposed lattices of servos and cabling frozen mid-install.

Tools lay where hands had last left them: torque drivers, alignment rigs, calibration wands. Some had rusted into place, metal flaking where oil had long since dried.

Others looked untouched beneath a thick coat of dust, preserved by neglect rather than care.

Heavy machinery sat farther back. Presses. Assembly frames. A disassembly cradle tilted at an angle, one restraint arm bent and never repaired. Power conduits ran along the ceiling in neat channels, several capped cleanly, others torn loose and dangling.

Don walked slowly, boots scraping faintly across the concrete. His eyes moved with assessment—inventory, not admiration.

"This place wasn’t abandoned in a hurry," he said.

Winter drifted laterally, pausing over a collapsed workstation. "Correct. Shutdown procedures were followed. Equipment was secured. Nonessential systems powered down."

His gaze caught on something darker near the far wall.

Two shapes on the floor.

Bodies.

He changed direction.

The bodies lay where they’d fallen, collapsed near a toppled parts crate. Clothing hung loose on them—civilian wear, worn thin. Time had reduced them to bone wrapped in scraps of fabric. One skull was cracked along the side, fragments scattered nearby.

Winter descended and hovered inches above them. A pale scan washed over the remains.

"They expired several years ago," she said. "Environmental exposure contributed to accelerated degradation."

Don stopped beside her. "Cause?"

Winter tilted slightly, then turned her attention upward.

"I believe they managed to breach the exterior," she said. "However, ceiling-mounted turrets activated once they entered restricted zones." Her optic flicked across the rafters. "The entry keypad’s security profile was outdated. They likely bypassed it."

"So scavengers."

"Yes," Winter replied. "Much of the equipment here would command high prices on the secondary market."

Don followed her gaze to the ceiling. Recessed housings were visible now—dark apertures tucked between beams, lenses long dead or powered down.

He exhaled once and moved on.