Detective Phish was standing outside of the Bikini Bottom Police Department smoking a cigarette. He took long drags to try and calm his frayed nerves, but nothing seemed to help him in this ultra-stressed state. It's been three days since he's issued the warrant for The Strangler's arrest, and so far it's been three days of nothing.

Phish stamped his spent cigarette out on the pavement just as Alan Unagi came to join him. Glad to have some company, Phish searched his pockets for his box of smokes, but couldn't find them. Phish let out a stressed sigh – he must have left them inside.

"I'll be right back Alan, I'm gonna go grab a cigarette," Phish announced.

"Don't bother, I've got some right here," Alan replied, presenting a fresh box of cheap cigarettes. He quickly removed the wrapper and dropped it lazily onto the ground. Ironically, none of the employees of the police department cared about the "no littering" policy throughout Bikini Bottom. Alan popped open the box and handed Phish a fresh cigarette, which was eagerly accepted.

"Now tell me something, Alan," Phish began, smirking, taking the cigarette from his friend. "Why is a doctor like you handing out cigs like they're candy?"

"I'm not a fucking doctor." Phish started chuckling at this and lit his cigarette.

"Well, thanks anyway. Doctor." They both leaned up against the grimy brick wall at the front of the department, which was mired by smog and acid rain. The two smoked silently for a while, both of them waiting for the other to inevitably bring up the matter at hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, Phish sighed and said, "We will get him, you know."

Alan shrugged and let out a puff of smoke. "I never said we wouldn't."

"You were thinking it."

"You were too." Phish quickly glanced at Alan, feeling a tinge of anger building within him. It's no secret that Phish hasn't solved a case in almost two years. This includes petty crimes such as robbery and assault, which are usually handled by beat cops due to their relative ease. Phish couldn't even remember the last time he was able to crack a murder case.

"No. We'll find him," Phish said, as much to himself as to Alan. He threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. "The warrant's only been up for three days. We just need to give it some time."

"Phil, I'm not worried about the warrant. I'm worried about you. When was the last time you've slept?"

"I'm fine. Nothing coffee and cigarettes can't fix," Phish replied with a forced smile. "Besides, a bad detective is the one who sleeps the most."

"Tell that to the ones that are meeting quota every year," Alan replied. A shocked silence fell between the both of them for a few moments. Alan rubbed the back of his head and let out a sigh, saying, "Sorry Phil, that was totally uncalled for."

"Well, you're not wrong," Phish responded with surprising acceptance. "Look, I'll be fine. I'll catch The Strangler and then I can rest."

"That's not all you need to be worried about Phil. The chief is about ready to fire your ass."

"You fucking think I don't know that? I'm amazed that he's kept me on for so long."

"I'm just saying… Don't you think you should be out there? You know, being a detective? Looking for witnesses, interrogating them, putting the puzzle pieces together, all of that great shit?"

"For what? I put out the fucking warrant. Now we wait." Phil said, feeling his anger rising. He knew he was in the wrong, but in truth, he was scared that he would never be able to pull it all together and solve this case, just like all the rest. Much better, and easier, if someone else did his job for him.

"You act like I don't know you, Phil," Alan said heatedly. "You act like you don't give a damn about any of this. You act like you don't care that there's a fucking murderer loose in your city!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Phil grunted through his teeth, turning sharply to Alan.

"You act like you'd be just fine without this job. You act like everything would be hunky-dory. Well, Phil, I know you too damn well. I know that you'd fucking blow your brains out if it wasn't for this job. It's the only thing that keeps you going."

"That's a lie!"

"Then act like it's a lie you selfish son-of-a-bitch! Show us all that it's a lie." Phish and Alan locked eyes, both hating each other at that moment, but both knowing that everything had to be said. Eventually, the anger and tension began to loosen.

Phil let out a loud sigh and leaned up against the wall. Alan did the same. Phil checked his watch, noting that he only had three minutes left on his break.

"Alan," Phish began, "You're right. I just… I don't even know where to begin anymore."

Alan chuckled, "It's a sad day when a detective needs to ask a coroner for clues."

"Hey, you went to law school just like me. I think you're qualified."

Alan shrugged, saying, "I guess I would start like we always used to, by hunting down anyone that had ties to the suspect."

"No one has ties to the Tattle-Tale Strangler."

"Do you have fucking Alzheimer's or something? How could you forget that case twenty years ago? The one we studied when we were still in law school?"

Suddenly it all came flooding back to Phish, overwhelming him. "Oh sweet fucking Neptune, how could I have been so blind?" Phish's watch started to beep, alerting him that his break was over. "The Krusty Krab Killing! Twenty years ago… The Strangler…"

Phil looked at Alan, who seemed pleased with himself that he was able to snap Phish out of his melancholia.

"Well, Phil," Alan began, "Do you have any leads?"

"I need to find SpongeBob Squarepants."

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SpongeBob was sitting in a heap of soiled laundry, staring at Gary's cold corpse. He must've been so high that he forgot to feed him, or that he ate all of Gary's snail food himself. Poor little guy. SpongeBob buried himself deeper in the laundry, desperately seeking comfort.

Out of heroin.

I'm out of heroin.

The thought enveloped SpongeBob's entire being and filled him with an unshakeable dread. Without heroin, his mind wouldn't be dulled enough to withstand the barrage of memories that his mind will throw at him. Without heroin, he will be forced to remember.

Laying in the heap of filth, SpongeBob began to sweat profusely, as another memory came to him. A memory that haunted him constantly and would never leave him be. A memory that signified the beginning to all of his problems.

It was the day he met The Strangler.