Saturday came faster than Squidward had hoped. Two days had passed since his disturbing visit to Spongebob's pineapple house — and the smell of rot still lingered in his memory.
He arrived early, watching the ocean sky turn a soft orange above the Krusty Krab. Lurala swirled lazily above his shoulder like a bored eel in a lava lamp.
"Mmm… two more days since you saw him. Still time to do something clever."
"Don't tempt me," Squidward muttered, pushing open the front door.
Mr. Krabs was already there, changing more prices on the wall menu with greasy claws. He barely looked up.
"You're early," Squidward said, removing his hat.
Krabs grunted. "Prices are high, boy-o. King's still in town. Tourist boom."
"Right." Squidward hesitated. "Listen… I went to see Spongebob the other day. He's… off. Like, really off. Dead snail. Beret. Revolutionary speeches. Guns. The whole sea-bang."
Krabs waved a dismissive claw. "Let the lad stew in his pineapple. He's got no job, no income, no legal standing. He's more harmless than a bag of wet kelp."
Squidward frowned. "He's got a gun."
Krabs paused. "You say something?"
"Nothing."
As the hours passed, the familiar rhythm of a Saturday rush took over. Fryers sizzled. Customers argued over booths. Ollie the oarfish clumsily flipped patties while humming sea shanties.
"Wow, Mr. Squidward," he beamed, "you're like, so good at this. Multi-tasking. Register, orders, snarky comments. You're like… some kind of Renaissance Fish!"
"Thank you, Ollie," Squidward deadpanned. "If I had feelings, that might've touched one."
Lurala drifted near the window, her eyes glowing faintly.
"Ohhh… there he is…"
Squidward blinked. "What?"
"Look!" she hissed, voice vibrating with excitement.
Squidward turned just in time to see the glass doors explode inward.
BOOM.
Spongebob stood in the entryway, dressed in full revolutionary garb. A deep red beret sat atop his square head. A sea-communist sash crossed his chest. And in his yellow sponge hands… an undersea-modified wood-clam assault rifle.
"In the name of the working class," Spongebob bellowed, "THE PROLETARIAT SHALL BE FED FOR FREE!"
He opened fire — not aiming at anyone, but wildly spraying kelp rounds into the ceiling and cash register.
Customers screamed. Fish dove under tables. A woman fainted into a puddle of spilled coral cola.
Squidward hit the floor behind the register, covering his head. "FOR THE LOVE OF BUBBLES—"
Ollie poked his head out from the kitchen, squinting. "Is that—?"
BANG.
A round struck Ollie in the leg. He collapsed with a shriek, clutching his thigh. "I WAS NEVER TRAINED FOR THIS—!"
Squidward scrambled toward the back, dragging the dazed oarfish out of the line of fire.
Spongebob walked with militant precision, his boots squelching in fryer grease. Smoke rose from the ceiling fans. Ketchup packets exploded like blood bags.
"KRABS!" he roared. "COME OUT AND FACE THE PEOPLE!"
Squidward didn't wait. He bolted into the office and slammed the door behind him.
Krabs was already inside, shoving an old rifle into his claws. His eyes were wild.
"Wh—what are you doing?" Squidward panted.
Krabs checked the safety and kicked a footlocker shut. "What does it look like, boy-o? Defending my property."
"You've got a musket."
"I was in the NAVY, Squidward!" Krabs barked. "They taught us real war, not this newfangled terror junk!"
Outside the door, Spongebob's voice rang loud and eerily calm. "Squidward… I thought you cared. I warned you. Saturday was a bad day to sell sandwiches."
Lurala hovered by the doorframe, giddy. "This is perfect. Let him burn it all down, and when the dust clears, you'll own the ashes."
Squidward looked to Krabs. "What's the plan?"
Krabs loaded a single round into the old rifle and grunted. "I'll open the door. You throw the cash register at him. Then we both scream and run."
Squidward stared. "…Brilliant."
Outside, Spongebob cocked the gun.
"FOR THE COMMON CITIZEN!
Chapter 18
Outside the barricaded office, Ollie screamed.
BANG.
"MY OTHER LEG!" he shrieked, somewhere between the kitchen and the dining room.
Squidward flinched. "I didn't have time to pull him in. Oh Neptune, I didn't have time…"
"Don't think about it," Krabs grunted, snapping his rusted old rifle shut. "The boy knew the risks when he signed up. First job and already a war hero, eh?"
Squidward winced. "He was seventeen."
Krabs ignored him. "Get behind me. If I fall, avenge my name and bury me with my money."
"No."
"I didn't say you had a choice."
They crept toward the door. Squidward's ears rang from the earlier gunfire. Beyond that metal hatch, Spongebob paced like a predator, the faint jangle of ammo clips clinking with each step.
Krabs placed a claw on the doorknob.
BOOM.
The door exploded outward.
Wood splinters. Shattered concrete. Blinding dust. Squidward was flung backwards like a sack of dead jellyfish. Krabs hit the wall hard, shell-first, groaning.
Squidward's vision swam. His limbs wouldn't listen. He could barely register the figure stepping through the smoke. The flash of red fabric. The glint of a scope.
Spongebob.
He raised the rifle again.
BANG.
Krabs screamed, clawing at his chest.
The bullet ricocheted off his shell, leaving a shallow crack and a smoking bruise underneath. He hit the ground, panting.
Squidward scrambled to his knees. "Sponge… Spongebob please! This isn't you—!"
The sponge grinned wildly, bloodshot eyes fixed on him.
"You still came to work, Squidward," he said with manic glee. "I told you to stay home. I warned you."
Squidward whimpered as Spongebob stepped closer, rifle lowered until the barrel rested gently against his lips.
"Go on," Spongebob said, tilting his head. "Suck on it like a good wage slave."
Tears welled in Squidward's eyes. Slowly, trembling, he obeyed — mouth wrapping around the barrel like a defeated animal. Spongebob grinned.
"Thank you," he whispered. "I always loved my neighbor."
Then he turned the rifle back on Krabs.
"I'm sorry it had to be you, old man. But your empire ends now."
The floor trembled. The air boomed.
The front of the Krusty Krab exploded, as if punched open by divine rage.
Through the smoke and splinters floated a towering silhouette.
King Neptune.
Cloaked in his red robes, crown ablaze with glittering light, his trident pulsed with burning energy. His royal guards flanked the shattered entrance, pikes gleaming, armor immaculate.
"ENOUGH!" Neptune's voice boomed. "LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPON, SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!"
Spongebob turned, unfazed. "So the monarch descends from his tower."
He paced forward, rifle still in hand, shouting over the rubble.
"I killed no one who didn't deserve it! I rose against the corrupt, the greedy, the cruel! Patrick died from your fast food! Plankton died trying to survive in a rigged system! You—" he pointed at Neptune "—you let it happen! And now you dare judge me?"
Neptune's eyes narrowed.
"You were the one who saved my crown. Who stood bravely in Shell City. That hero—that sponge—would not harm civilians."
Spongebob scoffed. "Praise from a tyrant means nothing."
He raised the gun.
He pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
Nothing.
The rifle jammed.
Spongebob stood frozen, breathing heavily.
"Drop it," Neptune warned.
But Spongebob held on, gripping the weapon like a lifeline.
That's when Squidward acted.
Hands shaking, he reached into his shirt and pulled out the Death Note.
Lurala's eyes sparkled with wicked delight. "Ohhh, yes… write his name. Let's end this rebellion properly."
But Squidward didn't write.
Instead, he tore a page out of the notebook, crumpled it into a ball… and threw it at Spongebob.
It bounced off his head.
Spongebob turned, confused—then froze.
His eyes widened in terror.
"Wh…what…? Who is she?" he gasped, stepping back.
Lurala stood behind Squidward now, revealed.
A floating, otherworldly specter. Her eyes like twin abyssal lanterns. Her smile an endless crescent of death. Flanked by batwings that flapped slowly against her undead mermaid body.
"You can see her?" Squidward asked.
Spongebob shook. "What… is… she?"
"She's a shinigami," Squidward said quietly. "A god of death. Her name's Lurala. And that notebook? It's hers. It kills people."
Spongebob trembled.
"I didn't believe it at first," Squidward whispered. "I didn't mean to kill Patrick. I wrote his name as a joke. I didn't know it would work."
A long silence.
Then Squidward said, "But it did."
Spongebob stared at him. The gun lowered, then fell from his hands. His face twisted, not in rage, but devastation.
"You…"
"I'm sorry," Squidward whispered. "I was annoyed by you and Patrick as usual, so hearing that whoever's name I wrote in this book would disappear, I gave it a try. But now? I'd give anything to take it back. Please, Sponge. Stop. You don't have to die here."
Spongebob's body shook. He looked like a cracked statue on the verge of crumbling.
Then he screamed.
A furious, primal, sobbing roar.
He lunged.
"YOU MURDERER! I'LL RIP OUT YOUR EYES—!"
ZAP.
A blinding flash of blue light.
Spongebob froze midair, encased in glowing blue ice.
Neptune stood with his trident raised, cold fury etched into his bearded face.
"Enough."
He turned to his guards. "Take him to the royal dungeon. Use the deep cells. No trial."
Two guards moved in, lifting the frozen revolutionary like a statue.
As they carried Spongebob away, his frozen face twisted with rage… and heartbreak.
Squidward sank to the floor, shaking. Lurala drifted beside him, silent for once.
"…You saved his life," she finally said. "He's not dead. Not yet."
"It was the only way to save his life," Squidward whispered.
Lurala tilted her head. "He hates you now."
Squidward nodded. "I know."
She smiled faintly. "But I don't."
He sighed. "That's not comforting."
"How did you know that he'd be able to see me if he touched the death note?"
"Call it an assumption."