"I know of a place where you never get harmed..."

SpongeBob knew the formula. He knew the contents of one of Bikini Bottom's most sacred items. His mind held a secret so dangerous, so profound, that he would implant an actual lock inside his head each night. So after Mr. Krabs had passed away due to sudden cardiac arrest in his 80th year, his dying wishes that the formula stay between him and SpongeBob "no matter what", the boy was immediately put under what one could consider intensive care by the government.

A threatening barbwire fence had been built around his pineapple, the once beautiful, green yard now ugly and dark. The house was patrolled by police at night as if the property was some kind of jailhouse. The windows that had once let inside the sun's shimmering rays were now crudely boarded up. Not a soul, not even his best friend, was allowed to enter SpongeBob's home at night without first giving their "name, ID, and purpose". During the day, all visitors were monitored through a system of cameras outside the house. And all of this, all of this inordinate surveillance, was deemed necessary and could not be eluded.

"You can't DO this to me!"

He tried to reason with authorities. He really did. SpongeBob had given his all, but apparently his all wasn't enough. Apparently living a miserable life of isolation was unavoidable if you were the only one to have answers regarding something that would "throw Bikini Bottom into uncontrollable chaos", should you die.

"It's not fair, and you know it!"

He was told that his brain was now the most precious organ in his body, and that it needed to be protected 24/7. He was made to wear a helmet outside of his house, and when he was home only then was he allowed to remove it. It was quite the sight to see a sponge in a nice outfit and tie sport an unbecoming and very bulky helmet fitted around his square noggin. It was humiliating, but "completely necessary", because murderers and accidents just waiting to happen were supposedly around every corner. —And if Spongie's brain went splat! then that would mean no more precious Krabby Patties. No one to make 'em, no one to cook 'em...

"Let these so-called 'evil people' murder me! Why don't I just call over Plankton and have him take my life, for Neptune's sake? What does it matter anymore? I'm just an object in Bikini Bottom's eyes!"

SpongeBob would walk to work in the morning as the perfect picture of depression, his arms hanging limp at his sides, and his face void of his signature bucktoothed smile. How could he smile surrounded by heavily armed fish in dark riot helmets and face shields? If a passerby was unaware of the story behind the sight before them, he/she might assume that the pale, yellow fellow was a felon. And as mistreated as SpongeBob was, he might as well have been one. Kept from engaging in activities freely, his home guarded as if he the most wanted criminal in Bikini Bottom, and his walks monitored like he was on parole... He was suffering for something he shouldn't, and it wasn't right.

"I really can't live like this!"

People were so focused on SpongeBob's physical state that they were disregarding his emotional well-being as if it didn't exist. His mental health was of upmost importance, and yet ironically his feelings were being neglected. Doctors were monitoring his brain and not his heart, even more ironic considering the cause of Mr. Krabs' death.

"...and I'm here speaking on live television with Perch Perkins today to remind citizens that I have needs, too!"

It's not like what was happening to SpongeBob was a secret or anything. It's not as if the government was keeping things on the down-low. Family, friends, acquaintances, strangers— everybody knew what was happening to SpongeBob, but few cared (Who could risk having to part with the holy Krabby Patty, am I right?), and those who did couldn't legally do anything about it.

SpongeBob would swing open the doors of the Krusty Krab and sigh, rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes. Work didn't make him happy, anymore. Work was hell. With each passing day he was becoming more and more like his bitter neighbor/coworker, Squidward. The two rarely spoke anymore, and if they did it was usually only to communicate orders.

Squidward had expressed no clear signs of sympathy towards SpongeBob's situation. One could say he actually quite enjoyed it. No more obnoxious singing, no more constant laughing, no more incessant pestering... There was the occasionally cry, but it had subsided since the first week or two of chaos. And, dear Neptune!, to think this was all the result of a recipe. If Squidward would've known that something like this could've occurred after Krabs' death, he swore he would've murdered the greedy bastard in his sleep a long time ago. Now, however, there was no need to contemplate wicked acts. Mr. Krabs was dead and SpongeBob was practically being quarantined; it was heaven for Squidward. —And he was still getting paid.

Along with bestowing upon him the responsibility of keeping the formula safe and a secret, Mr. Krabs also left SpongeBob to serve permanently in charge as the new boss of the restaurant. The sorrowful sponge with the disturbed look in his blue eyes, well, he now owned the Krusty Krab, something he had always aspired to do. But instead of a privilege, the weight of running the restaurant proved a burden. As if his own brain wasn't burden enough...

"The people... They see me suffering. They see me barely managing a grin. And what do they do? Nothing. Nothing at all."

As time progressed, it was like no one raised an eyebrow at the mention of SpongeBob anymore. He was just the guy who knew the formula and therefore could serve the all patty-hungry people that waltzed through the door demanding food. He was just a sponge that used to be popular among the fish of Bikini Bottom. He was just Bob the sponge. He was just Mr. SquarePants. If he was lucky, he was even just "Robert". Because at least that name didn't carry the weight of the name SpongeBob. Because nowadays SpongeBob was just an infamous name. No one really knew who he was anymore.

"It's like no one gives a damn anymore, Gary! I'm old news."

Numerous times SpongeBob had considered just closing up shop and calling it a day forever. The Krusty Krab would be shut down and he would work in a factory or something for the rest of his life, taking the shitty, public bus to work everyday (because, yeah, he still didn't have his license). It reached the point where SpongeBob had actually begun to list the building online, but emotions got the best of him before he could submit the ad. He couldn't let what had been Mr. Krabs' livelihood just go down the drain like that, he really couldn't. SpongeBob had dedicated so much of his life to working for Mr. Krabs. He couldn't give up. He wouldn't. He'd sworn on his life.

"Get a hold of yourself, SpongeBob. Don't go overboard, now."

Fast forward two months or so, and the Krusty Krab had been shipped as scrap wood to a nearby construction company. It had been completely removed from its longtime home in the center of the pavement, just like that; another loved one, gone.

It was a Saturday morning when SpongeBob called the demolition company to tear the place down. He was shaking all over, his voice weak and cracking over the phone as he huddled into his living room chair. "The Krusty Krab, I know," he said. "She's endured so much over the years. Shouldn't be hard to knock 'er down... Use care, if possible. She was the upkeep of my former boss and friend... Yes, the late Eugene Krabs. Wonderful man... Mhm, and the Krusty Krab, she's my everything."

That night, SpongeBob phoned Squidward. He knew it was going to be awkward, considering he couldn't even recall the last time the two had a real conversation, but this was the only way he was going to change that. He he had a reason for calling:

"...Hello?"

"..."

"Uh, it's S-Spo—"

"SpongeBob, I know it's you. What the hell do you want at THIS hour, anyway? I thought the government would've banned the usage of your phone at night, or some bullshrimp like that. Which actually would've been quite ni—"

"Listen, Squid. ...I just did something terrible."

"Ha, like interrupt me? Damn right."

"No, I'm serious. I... I messed up real bad."

"How is whatever you're about to tell me different from all your other fuckups, and, better yet, why should I give a barnacle?"

"Please, j-just hear me out. Y-you're gonna kill me for this, but here it goes."

"—So help me Neptune, if you miscalculated my paycheck—!"

"No, Squidward. I sold the Krusty Krab."

"..."

"Did you hear me?"

"..."

"I SAID—"

"To who?"

"What?"

"WHO DID YOU SELL IT TO, GODDAMMIT?!"

"Denny's Scrap & Junk, for five-thousand dollars. The truck came and got it this afternoon."

"W-wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT a motherfu... Hold on! You... are you kidding me right now? Are you fucking kidding me, SpongeBob?!"

"No, I'm really not. Why did you think I was calling you?"

"To be a whiny bitch, like you usually are, not tell me that you had the Krusty Krab DEMOLISHED! Heh, and behind my back, too? Couldn't bother to make sure that your EMPLOYEES were on the same page so that they could start looking for a new job instead of going about their daily lives in ignorance until they realize, oh, I've been FIRED, and then it's a terrible inconvenience?... Neptune, I thought Mr. Krabs was bad about standards, but this fuckery is just SHAMEFUL."

"I'm s-sorry you feel this way, Squidward, but what's done is done. I just thought I'd let you know. Again, I'm sorry."

"Keep your phony sorry's, I don't want 'em. You're not sorry, you're scared. You're a suffering fool. Yeah, I see you. No one else seems to notice anymore, but I do. The thing is, Sponge, I could care less. You see, you used to disgust me, with your naive fantasy you called 'happy'. You couldn't accept the world for what it is: sad. But now, heh, I'm almost tempted to say I like the new you. The you that's accepted what it's like to feel isolated and miserable and hopeless. —My life in a nutshell. You finally understand. I'm proud of you, SpongeBob. You can finally see the world through my pessimistic eyes, through the eyes of NORMAL people. I still can't believe it drove you to actually DEMOLISH the Kru... Well, you've always been an idiot."

"Thank you."

"Uh... okay then. I'm hanging up."

"No, I mean it. Thank you. You've made my decision easier."

"Decision?"

...It was that night that SpongeBob sat down in the middle of his living room floor and began to contemplate everything. His work, his relationships, his brain... his life. What was his life without his job? What was his life without freedom to hang out with friends as he pleased? What was his life if the town he had dedicated his happiness to forever couldn't do the same when he had hit his low? What was his life if he had sworn on it and then proceeded to break the promise he'd said he'd keep?

"I swore on my life..."

SpongeBob had tried to manage the pain. He tried to accept that this was what his life was going to be like if he was going to uphold Eugene Krabs' fast food legacy, and the secret of the Krabby Patty. But now that the Krusty Krab was gone, there was no turning back. The Krabby Patty would soon be a thing of the past once customers realized that there was no more restaurant, no more formula, no more frycook...

He fingered a pistol in his hand. It was Mr. Krabs' old pistol from his Navy days. He'd found it in a wooden chest after the house was cleaned out and Pearl was taken into foster care. Figured he couldn't let such a cool relic get thrown out. It was confirmed loaded, too. Gee, how convenient.

SpongeBob had avoided Patrick for just this reason: should he choose to end it all, it was best that he steer clear of Patrick's presence completely. Even just thinking about his pal caused his cold eyes to well up with burning tears. The poor doofus... it'd probably be a while before he was able to fully comprehend what had happened after it did. Oh, how he loved his best friend so much. —The conflicting feelings were driving him over the edge!

"I can't believe I've got a flippin' gun in my hand! Barnacles, why did it have to happen like this? I've never been this kind of person. I've never been so depressed in all my life. But, maybe Squidward's right: I couldn't accept the world for what it is. And maybe I still can't..."

SpongeBob looked around at the living room one last time. The room was dark, and the boarded up windows and night sky only made it darker. He could barely make out the funky decor on his wall that had once brought him joy to look at. He'd enjoyed decorating... and bubble-blowing and jellyfishing and cooking. Not to say that he didn't still enjoy these things, it was just hard to, nowadays. Thankfully, however, he wouldn't have to try to be happy anymore. It would all be over soon... Ensuring that Gary was not around to see, he shoved the pistol to his head. With this weapon —with this method— he could ensure that his brain would never be studied.

—Perfect, considering he'd already burned the formula.

He recalled the night of Mr. Krabs' death:

"Mr. Krabs, I can't bare to see you like this anymore, all hooked up to a machine."

"And I can't bare to see ye cry."

"S-should I go now?"

"If ye wish."

"Aye-aye, Sir."

"SpongeBob, me boy, don't forget what I said."

"T-tell me again, please."

"One last time, lad: Don't let Plankton or anyone find out the Krabby Patty formula. Burn it if you have to. ...The secret is to be kept in your mind, f-forever. And finally, when yer dying like me, you take that formula with you. NO ONE can know the formula, no matter what. I trust you and you alone with my entire business. In your hands, I believe the Krusty Krab is safest. Make me proud, SpongeBob."

"I will, Mr. Krabs. I swear on my life."

He was snapped back into reality when he heard furious banging on the front door, and sirens in the distance.

"Mr. SquarePants, this is the police!" a man hollered. "Unlock this door immediately or we will break in!"

Another shouted, "The Krusty Krab was torn down! Where's the formula?"

The men outside continued to scream commands, all of which SpongeBob ignored.

"They want me, and they want my brain, but they will never get it. I swore on my life, and I failed Mr. Krabs, but there is still one promise I can keep: When I die, I'm taking the secret formula with me. —No matter what."

BANG!

~While he was alive, SpongeBob had given his all, but apparently his all wasn't enough.