Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere-Chapter 554: A Busy Night (Part 6)

Winter drifted toward a tall rack near the center of the room.

It held android components arranged with almost obsessive care: heads in foam braces, optical units capped and tagged, torsos mounted vertically like armor on display. Dust dulled everything evenly.

Don's attention shifted to the workstations along the wall.

Photographs were pinned above several desks. Group shots, lab candid shots. Scientists in coats, arms slung around each other, standing beside early prototypes. Most were old. Faces lined. Hair thin or white.

One photo made him pause.

Dr. Gadget stood near the center of it, younger than he'd ever seen him, hair still gray but fuller, posture straighter. He was smiling at something off-camera.

Don looked at it for barely a second.

"Looks like Gadget worked out of here," he said.

Winter replied without turning. "That is consistent. He collaborated with Gorge Tech prior to their acquisition. This facility aligns with their former research footprint."

She hovered closer to the rack, optics narrowing. Her body stilled.

"I believe I've found something."

Don stepped up beside her. "What?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, her gaze traced the rack, then flicked to a nearby workstation, then back again.

"One moment."

A soft hum issued from her core as she rescanned. Then she spoke.

"Pull the hand of the second android torso," she said. "Push both eyes of the fourth head unit inward. Shift the leg assembly of the second frame to the right until you hear a click. Then return to the workstation you just passed and press the button beneath the central desk."

Don opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

He went to work.

The torso's arm resisted before sliding free with a dull scrape. The head's eyes depressed with uneven resistance. The leg assembly showed resistance until the addition of force—

CLICK~

He returned to the workstation, ran his hand along the underside of the desk, fingers brushing old adhesive and grime until he found the recessed control.

He pressed it.

The room responded.

A deep vibration rolled through the floor—low, heavy. Dust shook loose from rafters. The large worktable at the center of the room vented steam from its base—SHFFFT~—as hidden pistons engaged.

Metal groaned.

The table rose smoothly, lifting on concealed rails until it cleared the floor entirely, revealing an elevator platform beneath it.

Don stepped to the edge, looking down into the open shaft.

Winter hovered to his side. "Is it safe to enter?" he asked.

She scanned once, twice. "Structural integrity is within acceptable parameters. There is no issue."

The doors slid open.

Don stepped inside. Winter followed, drifting just above the floor.

There were no buttons. No controls.

The platform rocked once.

Then the doors closed—THUD~—and the descent began.

It was brief.

The elevator slowed, stopped, and opened again.

The space beyond was vast.

An underground lab stretched out before them, clean in a way the workshop above had never been. A central platform ran straight ahead, elevated slightly above the surrounding floor. On either side, stations branched off in ordered rows.

Racks held neatly cataloged components—mostly android parts, some unfamiliar in design. Several stations housed androids in various stages of construction: skeletal frames mounted in rigs, partially plated units suspended mid-assembly, heads connected to diagnostic lines.

Another section held chemical vats and sealed containers, labels intact. Another was devoted entirely to tools, arranged by type and size. Farther on, banks of monitors and desks sat dark but undisturbed, chairs tucked in.

Don walked forward, boots echoing softly along the platform.

Then he saw it.

At the far end of the lab stood a mech.

Only its upper body was visible from the platform, rising from a recessed bay. Even so, it dwarfed everything else in the room. The torso alone stood roughly fifteen meters tall—its proportions unmistakably humanoid. Broad shoulders. Reinforced chest plating. A head unit set deep into armored housing, inactive and dark.

Cabling and support struts ran from its back into the walls, anchoring it in place.

Don stopped.

Winter hovered beside him, optics fixed forward.

He looked at it for a second longer then continued walking forward along the platform, eyes wandering without hurry.

Winter hovered at his side, her optic now drifting from station to station.

"Is this some kind of secret base?" Don asked, gaze passing over a line of suspended android frames.

"More accurately, a classified lab," Winter replied. "Most major technology firms maintain several. However, standard procedure dictates full dismantlement once they are no longer in use."

She rose a little higher, her hover stabilizers adjusting as her sensors widened their sweep.

"This lab is still functional."

Don nodded faintly. He leaned and placed his hand along the rail, brushing his fingers across the edge. No residue came away on his hand.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't see much dust around."

He straightened and continued on, approaching the first branching stairway that dropped from the platform toward one of the lower stations—

WOOSH~

Suddenly, a sound cut the air overhead.

Don's ears twitched before his eyes snapped up. His shoulders rolled back, weight shifting, muscles coiling on instinct.

Above them, several shapes slid free from recessed ceiling ports.

Drones.

They were roughly twice the size of a basketball, circular frames forged from dull steel alloys. Each carried a single lens at its center, black and unblinking, ringed by fine sensor etchings.

Along their outer rims, miniature thrusters flared, bleeding short blue flames as they adjusted position.

They descended in a loose formation, then spread out, surrounding Don and Winter at even intervals.

Don's hands flexed. His stance widened a fraction. He didn't strike—but he was ready.

Winter stopped as well, her optic rotating smoothly as the drones' lenses brightened.

Thin beams spilled out, crawling over Don's body, then shifting to Winter's ocular unit. The scans lingered, layered, invasive.

Then a voice spoke.

Not from one drone—but from all of them at once.

"Identity confirmed: Don Bright."

A pause.

"Ocular drone detected. Model exceeds logged parameters. Architecture match identified."

Another pause, longer.

"Checking permissions."

"Checking operational conditions."

"No response from primary user."

"Failsafe status: deactivated."

"Commencing malware and corruption assessment."

Don raised a brow and glanced sideways at Winter. "What are they doing?"

Winter hovered closer, her posture steady despite the scrutiny.

"There appears to be a protocol in place," she said. "In the event that the original user—who I am now confident was Dr. Gadget—is unresponsive, the system attempts contact. If no reply is received, it initiates a conditional sync with an alternate user or system."

She tilted slightly as another scan passed through her housing.

"Provided no malware or corrupted architectures are detected."

Don's jaw tightened. "And if it does detect malware?"

Winter answered without hesitation. "Standard outcome would be a full shutdown. However—" she paused, optics flicking briefly toward the mech bay "—in environments containing high-value or volatile assets, escalation protocols may trigger self-destruction."

Don's eyes narrowed. He looked up at the drones again, tracking the way they subtly adjusted, thrusters correcting their hover in perfect coordination.

"You sure it won't flag your upgrades as malware?"

"Eighty-nine point seven eight percent," Winter replied.

He exhaled once, slow.

"Dr. Gadget was highly gifted in robotics engineering," she continued. "However, my current digital security measures are significantly more advanced. I function primarily through a distributed supercomputer architecture. This facility is not currently synced to one, which works in our favor."

Don let that settle. His shoulders eased a notch, though he stayed planted.

"Alright," he said. "Then we wait."

Outside, Gary frowned down at the pad in his hands.

The feeds were gone.

Static. Then nothing.

"Winter," he said. "Sir Don? Does anyone read?"

No reply.

His mouth pressed into a thin line. "Interference," he muttered. "Localized."

He leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing as he considered his options. If something had gone wrong down there—

"Suii."

The minion at the wheel spoke softly.

Gary looked up.

Another vehicle was approaching the gate, headlights cutting across the overgrown road as it slowed.

Gary's frown deepened.

"…We may have a problem."