A/N: gasp Yay! So glad I finally shut off that stupid anonymous review thing! Thank you A. Nonymous and SpongeFan and the other unknown people. You guys rock!

Okay...considering I got really good reviews on the last chapter, I'm feeling really bad because I think I could have done better on these next two. This one I seriously wrote just to take up space, but I'm going to rewrite the other one, just to make it more detailed or whatever...

So...here...hopefully this will boost suspense a tad...

Disclaimer: I forgot to do this a lot...but...for all the former chappies, and this one, you can't sue me!

Part Ocho

He let his hand drop to his side, still holding the gun. He gaped. His palms got sweaty and his heart quickened. She was the same, only more beautiful than ever. He swallowed, beads of perspiration appearing on his forehead.

"SpongeBob! Look! It's Dennis!" Patrick screamed stupidly.

"He—he killed Goofy Goober!" SpongeBob slurred, tears in his eyes, staggering to brace himself on Patrick's girth.

"Dennis?" Mindy gasped, blinking.

"That's the guy that tried to kill us!" Patrick said accusingly.

"Kill you?" Mindy echoed. She peered at Dennis from across the room. He took off his hat and sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes andblack hair wrapped in a ponytail. He shivered nervously. She gasped.

"Dennis?"

"Mindy…" he said gruffly.

"But…it can't…" She climbed down off the stage and hesitantly approached him.

"I thought…is it really you?" she breathed.

"You know him?" asked SpongeBob.

"You know them?" asked Dennis, incredulously.

"Yes. They're my best friends," she said, somewhat coldly.

"Stop! Nobody move! The cops are on the way!" cried the waiter. Dennis turned, casting another look back at Mindy, then bolted out the door.

flashBACK

He gulped. He could only sit there, motionless, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. His dark hair was matted to his forehead from sweat. His stomach turned somersaults. He turned and stared at the unmoving figure. The deed was done.

He lugged Chad's body off and into the shadows. He touched his cheek. A long wound ran across it, pouring blood. He took his jacket and patted it lightly, trying to quell the bleeding. He sunk down to his knees and came close to passing out. The world spun; he forced down vomit.

At last he took the gun and knives and shakily put them in his backpack. He looked at Chad's body, and suddenly felt a surge of pride. He had never before felt such power. This man had wrecked his life, and he had ended his. Somehow, a hollow feeling welled up in the pit of his stomach, but he shrugged it away and sighed, a satisfied sound.

He had blood all over him. He wrapped himself up in his jacket and hailed another taxi. As he started to open the door, the hotel boy came out.

"Where is Mr. Foster? What is that on your face?" he yelled. Dennis panicked, then jumped into the cab. The driver floored it. Dennis panted heavily. Suddenly he realized his backpack was missing. No. He turned around. It sat on the sidewalk where he'd been waiting. The boy picked it up…

He faced forward again, breathing hard. He fingered the knife on his neck, resting his head on the seat. He was a murderer now. He had no home.

The very next day his face was on the front page. Not exactly, but a police sketch. Complete with the wound on his face. He had stayed the night at the subway station, just so he could figure out what to do. The headlines were clear. Chad Foster dead in alley. Only suspect is this boy who claimed to be his son. It was only a matter of time before someone from home called in his name.

But he would never go back. He'd make sure they never found him.

Even if it meant never seeing Mindy again…

Thus, Dennis' life of crime began. At a pub a week later, he and other young men were hired out in a group to help settle a score. One thing led to another, and soon Dennis became the paid assassin we know him to be. He came to Bikini Bottom from time to time, but always on strict "business." He never once saw Mindy, Mark, or Addie. Now, to skip ahead and yet still be in a flashback…

"I'm sure you're wondering why you've been called here…" said a deep voice. Dennis crossed his arms. He stood in a dark office of the Chum Bucket, a restaurant in Bikini Bottom.

"You called about a…problem you need takin' care of?" he asked, popping his knuckles.

"For years it has been my dream to obtain the Krabby Patty Secret Formula and TAKE OVER THE WORLD!" the voice rose on a hint of insanity. The chair whirled around. No one was there. Dennis looked around.

"Down here, you imbecile," said the voice. Something jumped up onto the desk. Sheldon Plankton was incredibly tiny.

"You realize I could squash you like a bug you call me something one more time!" he growled. Plankton's antennae dropped.

"Of-of course, Mr. Dennis," he laughed weakly. "Let me explain my plan…"

"You have 30 seconds."

"In accordance with the ultimate Plan Z, I will steal Neptune's crown and frame Eugene Krabs, owner of the Krusty Krab and the patty formula. If he is fried on the spot, your services will not be needed. However I assume his fry cook will attempt to save his life. I'm selling the crown in Shell City. It will be our job to make sure the fry cook never gets back with the crown…if you catch my meaning…"

"Cut the smooth talk. Just give me the profiles."

"Here." Plankton tossed him two folders filled with pictures and information about the victims: SpongeBob SquarePants and Patrick Star. Dennis nodded.

Plankton continued, "While Krabs is dead and/or frozen, I will steal the formula and sell the Krabby Patty here at my restaurant with free Chum Bucket helmets, which are actually brain control devices…"

Dennis cut him off.

"How much are you willing to pay for the job?"

"Now, now. Let's not get carried away. When I rule the world, money will not be an object. Just sign the right papers." He slipped out a contract he had already signed. Dennis whistled as he read it. "So that's how much…you're sure?"

"Sacrifices must be taken to ensure Plan Z does not fail…One more thing, Dennis…" Dennis had tucked the profiles under his arm and was heading for the door.

"Make sure," Plankton sneered, "that the cause of death is you stepping on them!"

"Stepping?"

"I have my reasons," Plankton said grimly.

"Very well." The spikes on his boots popped out. "I'll make sure of it."

He got a call the next day.

"It's time. They're headed for Shelly City in Krabs' Patty Wagon."

He hung up the phone. He fingered the knife around his neck. Then he headed out to his bike, and he was off.

The road to Shelly City was pretty calm before the County Line. He made it within a day. He stopped at an outpost gas station, ten feet from the line.

Sure enough, there, by the side of the road…was a sesame seed. They'd been here.

"How much 'ill 'at be for yore hat? Ten gallons?" He looked up. Two hillbilly gas attendants laughed hysterically on the porch of the gas station. He sighed. He really didn't have time for this. In one smooth move he stepped up to them and ripped the lips of their pathetic, ugly faces. Time to move on.

After the County Line, everything was bleak, foreboding, and ruthless. He drove all night. Suddenly he spotted something by the road. He pulled to a halt and bent down. He rubbed his fingers in some kind of sticky liquid. He blew it through his fingers. It was bubble solution.

Suddenly he was surrounded by hundreds of really tough guys, all just come out of the Thug Tug. The leader pointed a finger in his face and sneered, "You may not know it, cowboy, but we got a rule around here about blowing bubbles…" After that he kind of tuned out their ridiculous code. Still no time. He punched out the guy in front of him. The others watched, stunned, still mumbling their silly rules, watching the poor guy rise above them, then finally dropping down and crashing into the tavern. Dennis roared away…

That's enough flashback-age…