Supervillain Idol System: My Sidekick Is A Yandere

The sun cast long shadows across the virtual Farmhouse Standoff map as Don maintained his position, peering through the jagged hole in the barn's roof. His breath was steady and he kept his rifle trained on the weathered farmhouse, scanning around for any sign of movement.

The old wooden beams creaked beneath him as he adjusted his position in the hay pile.

Inside the master bedroom of the farmhouse, Dominic stood motionless, his avatar's flashy mask concealing the frustration etched across his face. The room's peeling wallpaper and scattered furniture seemed to mock his current predicament.

"Well butter my biscuit and call me Sally," Dominic muttered, his thick accent carrying a tone of wounded pride. "This city slicker's done got the drop on me twice now."

**Tap tap tap** His virtual fingers drummed against the stock of his basic rifle as he contemplated his next move.

The cogwheel icon hung tantalizingly in his peripheral vision. With a focused thought, he brought up the floating menu, its translucent interface casting a soft blue glow in the dim room.

The loadout screen displayed an array of weapons, each floating in perfect detail. Dominic's eyes locked onto the sniper rifle - a matte-black DSR-50 with its standard iron sights and unadorned barrel.

No fancy attachments, no custom skins, just pure stopping power.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he muttered, selecting the weapon. The menu faded away like morning mist as the rifle materialized in his hands, its weight familiar and reassuring.

Dominic then moved toward the nearest window, where the afternoon light streamed through the dirty glass, illuminating dust motes that lingered in the air.

Through the window, he had a perfect view of the barn where Don lurked, and the open field between the two structures was exposed, dotted with scattered hay bales and the rusted hulk of an old tractor.

"Y'all think you're clever," Dominic muttered, settling into position. "But I reckon it's time we see how you handle a real Texan marksman."

The rifle's scope gleamed as Dominic began his careful scan of the barn's exterior, paying special attention to the roof where he'd been shot from.

Don leaned against one of the wooden support beams in the barn's second floor, his breathing steady as he surveyed the dusty loft area. Shafts of light pierced through gaps in the weathered planks, illuminating dust particles in the musty air.

"Maybe he decided to camp in the house, waiting for me to come to him" Don muttered to himself."

He crossed his arms, considering the possibility. Given Dominic's arrogant demeanor and prideful swagger during their earlier encounter, it seemed unlikely he'd resort to such passive tactics.

Don's eyes widened as another possibility struck him. Before the thought could fully form, his instincts kicked in and he dove sideways.

**CRACK**

A thunderous gunshot split the air as a bullet tore through the wooden wall, splintering the exact spot where he'd been standing moments before.

Without hesitation, Don dropped to his stomach, pressing himself against the rough wooden floorboards.

**BANG BANG**

Two more shots punched through the wall, but these went wide, striking several feet above his position.

'Random spray and pray,' Don thought, inwardly smirking. 'He's just hoping to get lucky.'
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Those follow-up shots had given away Dominic's position though - the second floor of the farmhouse and in response, Don's eyes darted to the barn's entrance and the various openings facing the house.

All of them would leave him exposed to Dominic's line of sight.

As he laid there, Don noticed something interesting - the bullet holes in the wall remained, no repair system restoring them. His eyes then drifted to the floorboards beneath him, weathered and worn with age.

"Time to improvise," he whispered, drawing his daggers.

Don proceeded to strike the weak points in the floor repeatedly, the sharp blades easily splintering the rotted wood.

**CRACK** **SNAP**

The boards soon gave way beneath him, and he found himself falling through empty air.

He ended up landing in a pile of hay on the ground floor, the impact sending a jolt through his body along with minor damage, but nothing serious.

Don then quickly rolled off the haystack, bringing his weapon up as he scanned the barn's entrance. No sign of Dominic.

Staying low, Don crept toward the back of the barn, his footsteps were muffled by the scattered straw covering the dirt floor as he moved, checking every shadow and corner for potential threats.

Upon reaching the rear wall, Don found no exit, just more weathered wooden planks. He ran his hand along the rough surface, feeling the grain of the wood. A plan quickly formed in his mind as he recalled how easily his daggers had torn through the floorboards above.

'He obviously knows about the destructible environment,' Don thought, tightening his grip on his daggers. 'But it's better than walking into his crosshairs out front.'

Inside the master bedroom of the weathered farmhouse, Dominic's patience wore thin as the seconds ticked by.

His scope remained fixed on the old barn's entrance, but Don was nowhere to be seen. His finger tapped irritably against the rifle's stock.

"Son of a bitch is probably campin' in there like a damn raccoon," he muttered, his voice full of frustration. "Waitin' for me to waltz right in like some green-horned fool. Fat chance of that happenin' again."

Dominic refused to acknowledge that being down two kills was anything but pure luck on Don's part.

Shifting his weight, he panned his scope one final time across the barn's weathered front area. The broken windows and splintered wood revealed nothing but shadows.

Screw this angle, he thought, backing away from the window before leaving the room. He then made his way down to the living room where shattered windows provided an easy exit and he quickly vaulted through one.

After landing outside, Dominic sprint across the open field, taking cover behind a lone tree as its thick trunk offered decent protection.

Pressing his back against the rough bark, he peered around with his scope, scanning the barn's entrance again.

"Fuckin' camper," he clicked his tongue in irritation before switching to his tactical gear, pulling out a smoke grenade. With impressive precision, he lobbed it toward the barn's entrance.

**thunk... hisssssss**

The grenade hit the dirt and began spewing thick, gray smoke that billowed up and around the barn's entrance. Using the cover, Dominic rushed forward, his boots kicking up dust as he dropped into a prone position near the entrance. His rifle steady, he waited for the smoke to clear, ready to pull the trigger at the first sign of movement.

As the smoke began to dissipate, carried away by the gentle breeze, the barn's interior remained eerily empty. That's when his eyes caught something - a massive hole in the barn's far wall, sunlight streaming through the splintered wooden planks.

"Oh shit-"

The realization hit him like a truck and he scrambled to get up, his muscles tensing as he pushed himself off the ground. But it was too late.

**RATATATATAT**

The sound of gunfire erupted from his left as two bullets slammed into his shoulder, the impact jerking his body sideways. Before he could even turn, the third shot found its mark - a clean headshot that ended it all in an instant.

Darkness engulfed him, and in the next breath, Dominic found himself back in the farmhouse's second floor. The kill notification tab appeared in the corner of his vision, mockingly displaying the headshot that had taken him out.

"GODDAMMIT!" he yelled in frustration.