Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

Chapter 665 665: Alpha-Squad Seven (Part 5)

Don breathed hard against the apartment wall.The concrete dug into his shoulder through the borrowed UPSDF uniform while his chest rose and fell faster than he wanted.

Every inhale felt uneven. Too sharp. Adrenaline still burned hot through his system despite the cold night air pressing through the courtyard.

His fingers stayed locked around Webb's rifle hard enough for his knuckles to pale beneath the grime and drying blood smeared across his hands.

His gaze shifted once toward the darkness where Vance had disappeared.

Then back toward the building where Webb had crashed through the third-story window moments earlier.

Smoke still drifted in uneven patches around the courtyard fountain, thinning slowly as the night air carried it between the apartment blocks.

Kowalski's body lay partially hidden behind the concrete barrier Don had dragged him behind earlier, one arm stretched awkwardly across the pavement beside the growing pool beneath his corpse.

Beyond the complex, Santos City continued groaning in the distance.

Don frowned.

Not at the situation.

At himself.

He couldn't decide.

The frustration surfaced fast and hard before he shoved it down immediately afterward. Indecision got people killed.

Tonight had already taught him that lesson more than once.

His thumb pressed against the comm.

"Vance fled," Don said quietly. "Heading back the way we came. No shots followed him."

A brief pause answered him.

Then Webb's voice returned tighter than before.

"Fucking—"

The curse died there.

Two floors above the courtyard, Webb stepped carefully across shattered glass inside what had once been somebody's living room.

The apartment looked gutted now. Furniture had been overturned during the struggle. A couch sat half-flipped near the wall with stuffing spilling from knife tears across the cushions.

Broken picture frames littered the carpet alongside chunks of drywall ripped loose during a fight.

Moonlight spilled through the destroyed third-story window Webb had launched himself through earlier.

Blood covered the far wall beneath it.

The sniper lay crumpled nearby in the same black tactical gear as the operative Webb had killed below.

The helmet had shifted during the struggle, exposing part of a pale face beneath it. Empty eyes stared upward toward the ceiling. One bullet wound sat centered high in the chest plate.

The second sat directly through the skull.

Webb hadn't taken chances.

He moved toward the broken window slowly, sidearm raised while his enhanced vision swept across rooftops and dark windows surrounding the apartment complex.

His eyes tracked firing angles automatically. Elevation points. Reflections. Blind spots.

Then narrowed toward the east.

Several apartment blocks overlooked both the courtyard and the surrounding streets from there.

"Let's meet at the intersection of Morrison and Kline," Webb said finally. "Two blocks east of your position. There's a hardware store on the corner. Solid cover. Multiple exits."

Below, Don glanced once toward Kowalski's body.

Leaving him there felt wrong.

Dragging a corpse through a sniper kill zone felt worse.

"Alright," Don answered.

Then after a short pause—

"Which direction is that?"

He looked around quickly for landmarks. Rooftops blurred together beneath drifting smoke and scattered emergency lighting.

Then he spotted a taller apartment building several blocks away with a long communications antenna bolted near the roofline.

"That building with the ruined antenna? The tall one?"

Webb exhaled through his nose.

Not annoyed.

Just exhausted.

"No. That's southeast. You're disoriented."

Don's expression tightened slightly.

"Where are you now?" Webb continued immediately. "Describe what you see."

Don scanned the courtyard again.

"Broken fountain. Three-story buildings around it. I'm against the north wall near the entrance we used."

A pause followed while Webb translated the space mentally.

Then his instructions came slower.

More deliberate.

"Okay. Look across from you. Building with boarded second-floor windows."

Don spotted it immediately.

"Yeah."

"Move right along the north wall until you reach the corner. Stop there. Look east. There's an alley between two buildings. Take it."

Don processed the instructions carefully.

Webb was simplifying, but the language still carried military rhythm beneath it. Directions weren't hard in theory. East. Corner. Alley.

Applying them inside a live kill zone felt very different.

'He's not used to explaining this way.'

And Don wasn't used to hearing it this way either.

Neither of them had trained for this specific situation. A veteran soldier guiding a civilian through an active ambush over comms.

Webb caught himself again before continuing.

"The alley between the two buildings. Go through it. At the end you'll hit a cross street. Stop before you show yourself."

Don nodded automatically even though Webb couldn't see it.

"Okay."

He pushed away from the wall and started moving.

The rifle stayed raised toward the windows above while he moved along the concrete carefully—

"Your boots," Webb interrupted immediately. "You're scraping. Pick your feet up."

Don adjusted without answering.

The next steps landed softer.

He kept moving along the north wall while his eyes tracked every dark window overhead. The alley Webb mentioned appeared ahead moments later. Narrow.

Tight enough that two people would struggle to pass shoulder-to-shoulder.

The inside smelled like mildew and rotting garbage.

Debris scattered across the ground shifted beneath his boots despite his efforts to stay quiet. Somewhere deeper inside the alley, weak emergency lighting flickered faintly against stained brick walls.

A dumpster blocked half the path.

Don circled around it slowly with the rifle aimed toward the far exit.

Webb's voice returned through the comms.

"At the end of the alley, stop before the street. Look both ways. Don't glance. Count to three."

Don reached the mouth of the alley and pressed himself flat beside the corner.

He looked left first.

Abandoned cars.

A flickering streetlight.

No movement.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then right.

Another empty stretch of road.

A corpse near a shattered bus stop shelter.

Nothing else.

"Clear," Don whispered.

"Go. Cross fast. Blue delivery truck halfway onto the sidewalk. Use it."

Don moved immediately.

His boots hammered asphalt while he sprinted across the open street.

The rifle bounced hard against his chest plate as he crossed the exposed lane before dropping behind the blue truck beside the curb.

He landed near the rear tire breathing harder again.

"Good. Now—"

Webb stopped mid-sentence.

Don froze instantly.

Webb going quiet meant something.

Then—

CRACK~

The round slammed into the truck's hood hard enough to tear straight through the metal.

Sparks burst briefly into the darkness while the entire vehicle jolted from the impact.

Don threw himself flat behind the engine block instinctively as another metallic whine echoed across the street.

His heart hammered violently against his ribs.

"Webb—"

"I saw it."

Webb's voice had gone cold.

"Third floor. Two buildings east of you. Left window. Hold."

Don pressed himself tighter against the truck's front grille while the engine ticked softly nearby as it cooled. Somewhere above him, another sniper waited in silence.

Ten seconds passed.

Then twenty.

Don's jaw started aching from how hard he'd clenched it.

A single gunshot cracked through the district afterward.

Different angle.

Different distance.

Webb's sidearm.

Then silence again.

A second later Webb spoke calmly through the comms.

"Operative down. You're clear to the corner. Move."

Don didn't ask how Webb had managed the shot from his position.

He just moved.

The next several minutes blurred together into controlled movement through ruined streets and narrow alleys while Webb fed him directions piece by piece.

Every instruction became simpler than the last. Less jargon. Fewer assumptions.

Webb was adapting.

Learning how Don processed things in real time.

Don followed without questioning it.

But one thought stayed near the front of his mind regardless.

'How many more?'

The courtyard operative.

The sniper upstairs.

The second sniper covering the street.

Three confirmed already.

Too coordinated for only three.

He never voiced the thought.

Just kept moving.