"BLEGGHH"
"PROJECTILE AHOOOYYY, MR. SQUIDWARD!"
Chunks of congealed cotton candy and fried chicken splatted across Squidward's face. The greenish blue liquid slipped into his nostrils but he was just thankful his mouth wasn't open at the time.
"Mr. Krabs?"
"Aye lad?"
"How did we get here?"
Squidward strained his neck to look at his boss as they were both suspended upside-down by their ankles—a centrifugal force spinning them in circles. The ropes tearing their ligaments threatened to snap as they desperately clung to splintering wooden beams. The beams extended from a rickety pillar of planks whose holes were stuffed by trash bags. The entire structure looked as if it would collapse if one were to simply exhale too strongly on it.
"I haven't the shell of an idea how. All I remember is passing out and seeing some visions of me days in the war!"
There was never a moment or context that couldn't revive memories of wars that Krab's had dubious participation in, but that wasn't Squidward's main concern. As it appeared, Krabs had no memory of the palmist's equally dubious prophesies. Whoever the message was meant for, though, was irrelevant. At present, Squidward and Krabs both had a more pressing issue to deal with. If the ropes were to give way and snap, and, judging by the last clearly audible snapping sound, splattered calamari would soon be ready to order.
"Krabs!" Squidward yelled, "Cut your rope with your claw!"
"Have ye last yer marbles, sailor?"
"Just trust me, Krabs, you can hide in your shell and then turn off this infernal machine!"
"If you say, so, lad" Krabs shrugged before curling up to reach the rope.
"WAIT!" Squidward yelped, but it was too late. 'In a single effortless swing, Krab's sliced through the rope torpedoing him straight for a stall marked "Sniff or Shell," a game where customers smell random bits of garbage blindfolded and try to correctly guess the object. Guessing correctly earns the customer the malodorous object. And, in accordance with the name, guessing incorrectly requires the customer to shell out a few clams.
"BOMBS AHOY!" the crustacean exclaimed as he retracted his appendages into his hard-as-steel exoskeleton.
"Sweet Mary, mother of God!" Squidward muttered in horror. Krabs didn't think to look before leaping and it cost him. Becoming accustomed to the speed and rotations, Squidward trained his gaze at Krabs' landing space.
They're ok. They're ok. They're ok. The phrase played on repeat, replacing all other thoughts in Squidward's mind—a fruitless attempt to relieve himself of thinking the worst possible outcome. It didn't matter though. He was going too fast. Krab's shell was too strong. And the chum that now covered his entire body, dripping from his pincers, was too much. Too much. Too much. This is too much. He furiously tugged at the rope to get down. He didn't care if he got hurt on his speedy descent; he just wanted to get off this ride. He needed to get away. He needed to get away from Krabs. He couldn't bear to look at him anymore. He shut his eyes tight but he couldn't get the image out of his head. He knew it was an image that would be promised to visit him in his dreams for countless nights to come.
"Mr. Squidward? Squidward? SQUIDWARD!"
Squidward woke, his head throbbing as Krabs violently shook him.
"You're alive, lad!"
Squidward remained silent. He couldn't say anything as Krabs tried to shake his lifeless limbs.
"Thank Neptune" Krabs exclaimed as he burst into tears, burying his face into Squidward's chest.
Get off me. Get off me. Get off me. Squidward's mouth refused to obey him. His jaw locked in place.
"GET THE HELL OFF ME!" Squidward screamed. His voice seethed in unbridled animosity as he shoved Krabs off him as hard as his weak tentacles permitted
"Eh?" Krabs stopped crying but he looked like he could start bawling again at any moment.
Krabs killed those people.
"W-what's wrong, there Squidward ol' pal?" Krabs whispered
How many people did he kill? Two? Three? Four?
"Squidward?"
Was it a mom?
"Squidward, talk to me lad!"
A dad?
"Please!". After that, Krabs' voice quieted, his eyes looked desperately at Squidward. And, for once in his life, Krabs would have given all of his riches for one thing that didn't guarantee a monetary return. He'd sell all of his possessions just to get Squidward to utter a single syllable. Squidward didn't want to utter any syllables, though. Squidward just wanted Krabs to keep talking. He just wanted the crustacean to keep flapping his lips and it didn't even matter what sounds happened to tumble from his mouth. Squidward just didn't want to be left to his thoughts. He didn't want to consider that one possibility that-. No. The thought made him feel as if he could puke his guts. But... what if? What if Krabs had killed...
A child?