Squidward hadn't slept.
Not a wink. Not a blink. Not even a micro-nap on the couch to the sweet, distant sounds of whale-song jazz.
He lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun uselessly, mirroring the cyclone of dread tearing through his soul. The covers clung to his clammy skin. His pillow felt like a sandbag soaked in guilt.
"Patrick was her friend," he whispered to himself for the ninth time.
"And if she finds out I'm the one who made his heart explode—"
"She might karate chop your entire skeleton into atoms," Lurala offered cheerfully, floating upside down and sipping something glowing.
"Thank you, Lurala," he hissed.
"Just being supportive. You know, emotionally."
He sat up, rubbing his temples. "I'm dead. I'm so dead. Sandy's smarter than she looks. And she already suspects something."
"Correction," Lurala said, appearing beside his head. "She suspects someone. But there's no proof. Patrick died of a heart attack. Plankton? Gas leak. Squilliam? Classic 'slipped-into-the-fryer' accident."
She grinned, shark-like. "You're fine, my tentacled murderer."
By the time morning slithered in, Squidward felt like a sponge someone had wrung out too hard. His eye bags had eye bags. His coffee was half toothpaste. He wasn't even sure if he was still wearing his PJ pants.
He stared blankly at the Death Note sitting on the kitchen counter, then muttered:
"If I got rid of the police, there'd be no one to investigate anything."
Lurala slowly turned to him, blinking.
"You say that like it's a joke."
"I mean… just theoretically."
But it was too late. Lurala waved her hand, and steered Squidward towards his cobweb-encrusted personal computer that sat in the corner. She forced him to sit down and typed an address into a search bar.
BikiniBottom.Gov — Law Enforcement Personnel Database.
Photos. Names. Badges.
All 32 of Bikini Bottom's police officers. A few he vaguely recognized — the buff yellow pufferfish, the octopus with too many medals, the anglerfish with the broken nose. Others were just cartoonishly ocean-themed names like Gill McGraw, Tuna O'Malley, and Officer Krillstein.
Lurala looked positively giddy. "Pick your poison."
Squidward's hand trembled as he picked up the pen.
"I-I can't. These are… real people. With lives. With families…"
She leaned close. "With keys to your prison."
He hesitated.
Then, slowly, began to write.
Gill McGraw. Tuna O'Malley. Officer Shrimpkins. Barracuda Jones. Chief Finnegan. One after another, names filled the page like oil slicks across a tide pool.
Lurala watched with delight, the tips of her wings flickering like static.
"Cause of death?" she whispered.
Squidward blinked. Then scrawled:
A wheel detaches from a passing delivery truck. It rolls, unnoticed, into the street—colliding with a fuel truck. The fuel truck crashes through the front wall of Bikini Bottom Police Station and explodes.
He paused. Looked at the last name.
Lieutenant Mollie Salts.
He hesitated.
Then wrote it anyway.
The pen clicked shut.
Squidward stared at the notebook, then pushed it away like it had grown teeth.
He got up. Made himself some herbal tea.
And just as he was sitting down—
BOOOOOOM.
The explosion shook his living room. The tea sloshed. The painting of himself fell off the wall. Out the window, he saw smoke curling into the sky. A mushroom cloud bloomed faintly behind the Krusty Krab's sign.
Seconds later, sirens. Firetrucks. Screaming. Chaos.
Squidward turned on the TV.
"BREAKING NEWS," announced Perch Perkins, still in his anchor chair but visibly shaken. "An unbelievable tragedy has just struck Bikini Bottom's central police precinct. A freak traffic accident involving a loose truck wheel and a fuel tanker has… has completely destroyed the station. All 32 officers inside were confirmed dead at the scene. The truck driver miraculously survived after jumping clear moments before impact."
Squidward stared blankly.
Lurala hovered behind the couch, absolutely beaming.
"You did it. You're a free man. There's no one left to arrest you."
Squidward exhaled and slumped deep into his chair, the guilt coiling through his chest like a sea snake—but so was a strange calm. Like he'd just flushed a toilet that had been backing up for years.
He took a sip of his tea.
Then—
DING.
The news ticker updated.
Perch Perkins put a hand to his earpiece.
"This just in: King Neptune himself has declared a state of emergency and will be dispatching a royal guard contingent to Bikini Bottom to maintain order. His Majesty will be arriving personally to address the community."
Squidward spat his tea.
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME."
Lurala chuckled.
"Ohhh honey. You just leveled up."