Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The room plunged into an oppressive darkness as the lights cut out, leaving the space shrouded in an eerie, suffocating black.

Without windows, the garage became an abyss—perfect for stashing illegal goods, but utterly unnerving when the night stole away every shred of light.

"Shit!" the guy leaning against the wall, Rusty, hissed, jolting upright. He instinctively clutched at the cigarette hanging from his lips, its faint orange ember the only visible glow in the room.

For once, the usual swagger in his voice was replaced by unease. He stepped away from the wall, his boots scuffing against the concrete as asked "What the hell's goin' down?"

**scuff** **scuff**

"Fuck," spat Grady, the lanky man, stumbling forward blindly, his long limbs flailing in search of something solid. His hand quickly landed squarely on Tank's shoulder, the chubbiest of the bunch, eliciting an immediate bark of irritation from him.

"Get yer mitts off me, ya dipshit!" Tank yelled, shoving Grady's hand away. His broad shoulders shifted uncomfortably as he adjusted his footing. "Jesus, Grady, yer actin' like some prospect who ain't earned his colors yet."

**thud**

Grady muttered "sonofabitch" under his breath but didn't move far, hovering too close for Tank's comfort. "This ain't no joke. Gotta be Bob or Doug killin' the juice. Fuckin' prospects always tryin' to prove somethin'."

"Yeah, well, maybe if ya weren't such a candy ass, it wouldn't get your panties in a twist," Viper, the shortest of the four, chimed in, his voice one of mockery as he leaned against what felt like a tool cabinet. "Probably just them two knuckleheads outside yankin' our chains."

**clang**

Suddenly, something metallic fell in the distance, causing Grady to spin around so fast he nearly lost his balance. "I don't give two shits whose idea this is—it ain't funny!" His voice rose as he swung his arms out, accidentally smacking Tank's shoulder.

"Watch it, patch holder," Tank growled, rolling his massive shoulder to shake off the contact. "Power goes out all the time in this rat hole." His voice rumbled. "Ain't no reason to go actin' like some cage rattled civilian."

**shuffle** **shuffle**

The sound of boots dragging across concrete echoed through the darkness as the men tried to establish their bearings.

Rusty, not too phased, took another long drag of his cigarette, the ember briefly illuminating his weathered face as his he realized something was off. "Whole thing's got me twisted, brothers. Somethin' ain't right here."

"None of ya got them fancy phones with lights?" Viper asked, trying to maintain his hard-ass facade despite the slight tremor in his voice.

Rusty let out a gravelly laugh, smoke curling around the dim orange glow. "Where's yours at, ya loud-mouthed nomad?"

**creak**

A door somewhere in the darkness groaned on its hinges, causing all four men to freeze. The ember of Rusty's cigarette trembled slightly as he held it between his lips.

"The hell was that?" Tank whispered, his usual booming voice now barely audible. "Bob? Doug? If that's you prospects messin' around, yer gonna be cleanin' bikes with yer tongues for a month!"

Only silence answered, broken occasionally by the sound of their increasingly rapid breathing and the subtle rustle of their clothes as they shifted nervously in the pitch black.

Viper opened his mouth to add on to Tank's words, but before he could, Tank yelped angrily, "Get off me, Grady! I said quit touchin' me, you damn twig."

"I'm not touching you!" Grady yelled back, his voice rising in pitch.

"Then who the fuck—" Tank froze mid-sentence. His hand instinctively moved to his shoulder, where he swore he felt fingers digging into his flesh. "The hell is this?" he mumbled in confusion.

Suddenly, the grip on his shoulder tightened, and before anyone could react, Tank let out a guttural scream of agony.

**SCHLICK!**n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The sound was sickening—flesh tearing and bone crunching.

Tank's scream turned high-pitched as he stumbled back, his hands flailing downward toward his foot. Blood splattered across the floor as something sharp had pierced through his boot, shredding it along with the flesh inside.

The front of his boot was now a ruined mess, the steel toe bent and blood-soaked, with chunks of meat and tendon visible through the gory mess.

"Holy shit!" Viper yelled, stumbling backward, his arms flailing as though trying to bat away whatever invisible force had just attacked Tank.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" Grady screamed as well, his voice cracking as he fumbled frantically with his pocket. His shaking hands barely managed to retrieve his phone, and after a few agonizing seconds, he turned on the flashlight.

The beam wavered wildly, first hitting Viper, who recoiled from the sudden light.

"Not me, you idiot! Over there!" Viper shouted, pointing toward Tank.

Grady turned the beam toward the sound of Tank's groans. The light landed on the chubby man, who was now on the floor, clutching his mangled boot with trembling hands.

His face was one of agony as blood pooled beneath him, spreading across the floor in a gruesome, glistening puddle.

"Get it off! Get it off!" Tank screamed, his voice raw and desperate. His fingers clawed at the shredded leather, but every movement seemed to worsen the pain.

Grady's breath hitched as he stared at the grisly sight. He subconsciously stumbled back, his hand shaking so violently that he dropped his phone.

**Thud**

The light winked out as the phone hit the floor, leaving them in total darkness once more.

"Pick it up, you fucker!" Viper shouted, his voice trembling despite the anger in his words. "There's something in here!"

Grady's entire body trembled as Viper yelled at him, his voice loud with panic. "Pick up the damn phone, Grady! What are you waitin' for?"

Rusty, still not as fearful as the others, reached into his pocket with steady hands, though his jaw was clenched tight. His fingers fumbled briefly before retrieving a lighter. He then flicked it on with a quick motion, the small flame sputtering to life with a soft **click~**.

The dim glow cast short, shifting shadows across the center garage's blood-smeared floor. Chunks of mangled flesh and streaks of red pooled beneath Tank, whose heavy groans filled the suffocating atmosphere.

The sight was incredibly grotesque, with the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air. Even with the poor lighting, the damage to Tank's leg was clear enough to draw looks of disgust and dread from all three of his fellow gang members.

"Goddammit!" Tank cried out, his voice cracking as he clutched at the shredded remains of his foot. His fingers hovered over the mangled mess, unsure of where to even apply pressure. "My fuckin' leg! What happened to my leg? Turn on the goddamn light!"

His breathing had become erratic, every wheezing gasp punctuated by shouts as adrenaline flowed through his battered body.

Grady, still trembling, hesitantly crouched down. The faint gleam of his phone was partially illuminated by Rusty's lighter, casting just enough light to guide his hand. He reached out cautiously, his fingers hovering over the phone as if touching it might trigger something worse.

"Just grab it already!" Viper impatiently urged, though his voice trembled as badly as Grady's hands.

Grady swallowed hard and made a move to snatch the phone. His fingers brushed its edge, but one lingered too long in the dark.

Something smooth and cold slithered around his finger—a sensation so foreign and unnatural that it sent a violent shiver down his spine.

"Aahhh!" Grady immediately screamed, recoiling so hard he stumbled backward, the phone skittering out of reach once more. "Somethin's got me! Somethin's got me!"

Rusty stepped back instinctively, raising the lighter higher to illuminate the scene. "What the fuck're you screamin' about now?"

Grady didn't answer. Instead he spun on his heel, kicking wildly into the darkness with the conviction that whatever had touched him had a body, a target hidden just beyond the faint circle of light.

But his frantic kick landed far worse than expected.

**SCHLICK!**

The moment his leg entered the darkness, a black spike shot up from the floor, spearing through Grady's leg at the knee with a sickening crunch of bone and rip of flesh. Blood sprayed outward, splattering against the ground and catching Rusty's boots in thin arcs.

"AAAAHHHHH!" Grady's scream echoed through the garage, raw and agonized, tearing at his throat as he collapsed sideways. He clawed at the floor, his trembling fingers scraping against the concrete as he cried out, "Help me! Fuck! Help me!"

The spike pinned his leg to the ground, its jagged edges embedded deep in his knee. It was a pain Grady had never felt before. Fresh blood flowed freely, pooling and glistening in the dim light.

The jagged remains of his pants and skin peeled back around the wound, revealing the raw, torn tissue beneath. The sight was horrific—a gaping mess of shattered bone and shredded tendons.

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"Holy mother of shit…" Rusty muttered, the flame of his lighter trembling as he stared at the grotesque scene before him.

Viper, meanwhile, had gone pale, his jaw working soundlessly as he tried to process what he was seeing. His arms hung limply at his sides, his earlier bravado utterly crushed. "The fuck…?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

Grady's screams didn't let up, each cry followed by gasping breaths as he writhed on the floor. Every slight movement of his leg sent fresh waves of agony coursing through his body, but the spike held firm, refusing to let him go.

"Get it out!" he wailed, clawing at the ground. "Get it the fuck out!"

But neither Rusty nor Viper moved to help. The light was too dim for them to even see what had injured Grady, let alone help. Their feet remained rooted to the floor. their eyes darting nervously between Grady's mangled leg and the darkness surrounding them.

Then, came Don's voice—deep, resonant, and cold as death itself.

"Tell me where your leader is," he asked, his tone calm yet menacing. To the terrified men present, his voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, echoing off the steel walls. "Do that, and you might just leave with your lives."

Rusty turned his head sharply, his eyes scanning the blackness beyond the lighter's glow. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment before he whispered, "Who the fuck are you…?"

Viper took a shaky step backward, his boot splashing in the blood spreading across the floor. "Rusty…" he muttered, barely audible. "This ain't normal, man. This is some freak shit…"

Rusty tightened his grip on the lighter, his knuckles whitening as the small flame wavered from his erractic movements. "No shit, genius. But you heard him... it. We tell 'im where Ash and Vik are, maybe we walk out of this."