Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inside her treedome, Sandy Cheeks adjusted the dials on her latest invention, squinting through her safety glasses as she soldered a delicate circuit. She was on the verge of a breakthrough—she could feel it.

The lab beneath Sandy's treedome was a controlled chaos of wires, metal parts, and half-finished projects scattered across tables and shelves. The faint hum of the air supply was the only sound as she worked, her focus narrowing to a single line of code blinking on the monitor. Her latest project, a handheld weather-monitoring device, had finally started yielding results after weeks of meticulous design. But tonight, the readings she was picking up were… unexpected.

“Now hold on a sec...” Sandy murmured, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. She leaned closer to the monitor, her eyes widening as a series of energy spikes appeared on the screen. Each spike pulsed with an unsettling regularity, as if something was sending waves of energy rippling through the ocean.

“Well, I’ll be a nut-gatherin’ squirrel in a snowstorm... what’s causin’ all these weird readings?” she muttered to herself, her voice trailing off. She adjusted the settings, expanding the range of her readings on the device in the hopes of getting a better idea of what was going on outside her treedome and possibly pinpointing the source.

"Somethin’ ain't right," she whispered, feeling a shiver run down her spine. Years of survival and exploration had honed her instincts, and every one of them was hollering at her now.

As she fine-tuned the device, a faint hum began to resonate through the water, so low at first she thought she’d imagined it. But it grew louder, building slowly, like the distant rumble of a massive engine, its vibrations echoing through her treedome and making the walls tremble.

"What in tarnation…?" Sandy muttered, stepping back from her work table, her ears twitching uneasily. The hum intensified, buzzing in her teeth and reverberating down to her bones.

Heart pounding, she hurried out of the lab and took the elevator back up to her main living area. As soon as she was ground level again, she looked outside her home’s window. Beyond the glass walls of her treedome, she saw something that made her heart skip a beat.

A green light—no, a glow —was seeping out from the edges of the horizon, as if it were bleeding into the water itself. The entire landscape beyond her treedome seemed to be slowly turning a sickly, unnatural green. And… strange shadows appeared to flicker along the edge of her vision—she shook her head, blinking away the odd visual anomaly.

The last time she'd seen water this color was during a green tide—a harmful macroalgae bloom that poisoned the water for miles.
But this seemed different. She didn't know what it was, but her gut told her something was very wrong.

Dark clouds churned overhead, swirling in a vortex, and that same eerie green light seeped through the cracks in the storm. It looked almost like the silhouette of giant tendrils reaching down from the sky—coiling and curling through the water with malevolent intent.

"What in the world is goin' on out there…?" she whispered, barely able to find her voice.

Grabbing her phone off the table, she dialed SpongeBob’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. She tried Narlene—no answer. A gnawing sense of dread twisted in her chest as she finally called Karen, hoping the computer wife would have some insight.

The line picked up immediately. “Let me guess, you’re calling about the massive energy spike my sensors picked up?” Karen’s synthetic voice was calm, but there was an edge Sandy hadn’t heard before.

Sandy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Yes! But it’s more than that! Karen, have ya looked outside lately?”

There was a pause on the line. “What’s that squirrel yammering about?” Sandy could faintly hear Plankton’s voice in the background, his usual annoyance tinged with something that almost sounded like fear.

“Oh, just the end of the world as we know it,” Karen shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Then, turning back to Sandy, “I was just about to check. But whatever this is, it isn’t just any signal, Sandy. It’s… probing. Alive. It feels like something’s trying to reach out. Do you have any idea what could be causing this?”

“I wish I knew,” Sandy said, glancing nervously at the green glow creeping closer to her treedome. “It’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen. And whatever it is, it’s powerful enough to affect everythin’ within miles of here. I don’t think we’re dealin’ with just any ol’ disturbance.”

“Get off the phone, Karen!” Plankton’s voice cut in, more insistent now. “We need to lock down the Chum Bucket and activate the emergency protocols—!”

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed on Karen’s end, followed by the clatter of metal. 

Sandy’s eyes widened, her pulse quickening. “Karen?! Y’all still there?!”

In the background, Plankton’s voice sputtered with a mix of outrage and fear. “Hey! What’s the big idea? This isn’t some kind of… cultist meetup point!”

“...Sandy, I’m gonna have to call you back,” Karen said, her tone unnervingly flat.

“Wait—what’s happening, Karen?” Sandy pressed, straining to hear over the commotion on the other end.

“If you freeloaders think you can just waltz in here without ordering anything, you’ve got another thing coming!” Plankton’s voice grew fainter, nearly drowned out by more crashes and shouts.

Karen’s voice returned, now edged with unease. “Let’s just say… Squidward, SpongeBob, and a group of hooded weirdos just walked in,” she said. “I’ll fill you in later, gal pal.” And with that, the line clicked dead.

“Wait! Karen!” Sandy shouted into the receiver, but it was too late. The line was silent.

Lowering the phone, Sandy felt a cold knot of dread settle in her stomach. What the heck is goin’ on? she thought, brow furrowing as her mind raced. “Squidward? SpongeBob? Cultists?” She clenched her jaw. “I need more information—and fast.”

A pang of guilt flared up as she remembered a phone call she’d had with SpongeBob just the other week.

"He’s been acting different lately, and I just don’t know what to do!” SpongeBob had said, his voice trembling with worry.

"Well, have ya tried givin’ him some space?” she’d suggested, more as a gentle nudge than anything.

“No, and I just don’t think I can do that, Sandy,” SpongeBob had replied, with an intensity in his voice that caught her off guard.

At the time, she’d rolled her eyes, chalking it up to SpongeBob’s usual over-the-top obsession with his grumpy neighbor. SpongeBob practically stalked the poor guy some days; it wasn’t unusual for him to call her, fretting over every little mood shift in Squidward. She’d thought nothing of it… but now, in hindsight, his desperation had seemed almost… unsettling.

Dang it, Sandy, she thought, clenching her fists. Ya should’ve taken him more seriously.

Determined not to waste another second, she sprang into action. Sprinting across her living room, she activated her treedome’s lockdown mode. Heavy steel barriers slid down over the entrances with a hiss, sealing her off from any uninvited guests. The faint hum of the airlock filled the quiet space, adding a steely edge to her focus.

She paused, taking a steadying breath as the reality of the situation set in. Something dark was happening in Bikini Bottom—something that had ensnared her closest friends. Whatever was happening out there, she wasn’t going to sit idly by. Her friends were involved, and she was going to get to the bottom of this—even if it meant facing down a cult.

“Alright, Cheeks, no time to lose,” she muttered, then bolted back over to her elevator leading down to the lab, her paw already reaching for the button.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, back at the Chum Bucket, Karen’s screen flickered as she processed the scene unfolding in front of her. Whatever was happening, it demanded her full attention.

Plankton stood defiantly in front of the cultists, his usual bravado on full display. But Karen noticed the moment he faltered—when Squidward stepped forward, eyes glowing with an unnatural, sickly green light, his movements too smooth, too controlled, as though he were a puppet guided by invisible strings.

This wasn’t the Squidward they knew.

Plankton’s usual bravado flickered, his tiny form retreating a step. “Wh-what’s gotten into you, Squidward?” he stammered, glancing uneasily at the hooded figures surrounding him. “This is—this is ridiculous!”

“Plankton,” Squidward intoned, his voice deeper, almost resonant with chilling authority. “You’ve been struggling for power your entire life, haven’t you? The Krabby Patty formula, the Krusty Krab, always just out of reach…”

Karen’s screen zoomed in on Squidward’s face, capturing the eerie glow in his eyes, his expression disturbingly smooth and detached. For the first time in her existence, the artificial intelligence felt something like… dread.

“Don’t be afraid, Plankton,” Squidward continued, his voice a chilling blend of calm and menace. I’m here to offer you true power. This is the beginning of something… greater. Something far beyond Krabby Patties… or the Chum Bucket.”

Plankton’s eyes narrowed, his fear melting into intrigue as ambition flared within him, momentarily blinding him to the danger. “Greater, you say?” he murmured, a greedy gleam in his eye. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s in it for me?”

Squidward leaned down, his glowing eyes locking onto Plankton’s, piercing him with unnatural intensity. “Power, Plankton. Power beyond your wildest dreams. Join us, and you’ll have more than the Krabby Patty formula. You’ll have dominion .”

The word echoed in Plankton’s mind, each syllable igniting the long-simmering fire of his ambitions. Dominion. The thought of wielding the kind of power Squidward hinted at was intoxicating. After years of failure, he couldn’t resist. Maybe… just maybe, this was his chance.

Karen’s voice crackled urgently, her screen flashing as she tried to snap him out of it. “Plankton, don’t listen to him! Something’s obviously wrong. For once in your microscopic life, listen to your wife! ”

But Plankton ignored her, his gaze locked on Squidward, his resolve steeled by years of frustration and longing. “Alright, Squidward,” he said, his voice trembling with anticipation. “I’m in.”

Squidward smiled, and the green glow in his eyes intensified as he pulled out a strange book. Something about it set Karen’s operating system on alert. Behind him, SpongeBob and the other hooded figures began to chant, their voices low and rhythmic, filling the room with an oppressive hum that made the walls vibrate.

Karen processed the scene, each sensor picking up subtle shifts in temperature, in air pressure, in energy. This was far beyond anything she had ever encountered.

“Plankton,” she murmured through her speakers, her usually sharp voice softened by an edge of caution. “Get out of there. Now.”

But Plankton stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on Squidward as the strange green light filled the room. A dark energy seemed to pulse through him, making his entire body go rigid.

Karen watched in horror as a sickly green glow seeped into Plankton’s eye, replacing his usual calculating gaze with a vacant, mindless stare. Her screen flickered erratically as the realization hit her—Plankton was gone. He was no longer in control.

Desperate, Karen did the only thing she could think of: she pretended to shut down, dimming her screen and entering “sleep mode,” hoping the cultists would dismiss her as just another piece of deactivated machinery.

Through her dimmed screen, she could barely make out the scene before her. Squidward was laughing—a dark, hollow sound that sent chills through her circuits. Plankton, now under his control, stood beside him, silent and motionless, like a soldier awaiting orders.

“Come, brother,” Squidward said, with a twisted look of satisfaction. “Tonight, we cement the Endless Night.”

The cultists began to file out, their cloaks rustling as they disappeared into the darkness. Plankton followed them in a daze, his movements stiff and mechanical. Karen watched him go, helpless, a pang of sorrow settling in her circuits. She wanted to call out to him, to snap him out of it—but she knew she couldn’t risk it. She had to survive. She had to find help.

Chapter Text

As soon as the cultists were gone, Karen powered back on, her circuits buzzing with urgency. Immediately, she noted a faint distortion within her unit–A low, oscillating hum lingered in her auditory systems, like residual static from an ancient radio. It was faint but persistent, an unwelcome reminder of the ritual she had just witnessed. She pushed the sensation aside, focusing on the task at hand.

She scanned her surroundings to confirm she was truly alone, then rolled out of her charging station, quickly gathering a few essentials: a backup battery, some spare wiring, and a portable data drive containing Plankton’s schematics—just in case.

If she was going to save him—or anyone in Bikini Bottom—she needed allies. Whatever was happening, it was bigger than she could handle alone.

Before leaving, Karen took one last look around the empty Chum Bucket. Her sensors detected the residue of dark energy left behind by the cultists’ ritual. The air was thick with the strange static that seemed to resonate with the hum lingering in her circuits. Shadows clung to every corner, reluctant to retreat even in her dim glow. Steeling herself, she slipped out through the back entrance, determined to find Sandy.

Outside, Bikini Bottom had transformed into a surreal, haunted version of itself. The streets were shrouded in an unnatural darkness, thick with an oppressive energy that set her sensors on edge. The usual glow of the street lamps was gone, replaced by a pervasive gloom that seemed to devour light. Everywhere she looked, strange symbols had been scrawled across buildings and sidewalks, glowing faintly with an ominous green hue. Shadows slithered and writhed at the edges of her vision, moving as if they were alive, as if reality itself were beginning to fray.

The buzz in her auditory systems grew louder, more insistent, as if demanding her attention. Karen’s gaze drifted upward, drawn to the swirling vortex of dark clouds gathering ominously over the edge of town, dense and pulsing with an unnatural green glow. In the heart of the storm, massive tentacles breach the clouds, twisting and unfurling, dripping with an ominous energy as they stretch out of the swirling dark clouds, their enormous, sinuous forms writhing and reaching down toward the town below. 

Karen’s screen dimmed instinctively, as though trying to shield her from the nightmarish sight. But there was no escape. Her circuits buzzed, not with the sterile efficiency of calculation, but with something closer to dread—a disquiet she could neither quantify nor silence. She didn’t want to imagine what unspeakable horror lay hidden beyond those writhing appendages, lurking in the storm’s shadowy depths.

But the universe wasn’t inclined to spare her. In that moment, lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the creature’s form in fleeting, ghostly flashes. Its slick, unearthly texture shimmered in the brief light, every ridge and coil of its massive body radiating a terrible, alien majesty. The slow, deliberate movements of its tentacles seemed less like aimless thrashing and more like the calculated gestures of an ancient and malevolent intelligence observing the town.

The air grew thick with foreboding—even Karen, as an AI, could sense it—drenched in an oppressive silence that hangs like a weight over the town. The metal buildings stand as silent witnesses, dark and skeletal against the roiling heavens. It’s as Bikini Bottom itself is holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable descent of this eldritch horror. The sense of something unspeakably vast and otherworldly looms, casting an inescapable shadow of dread over every rooftop and every soul hidden within. The calm before a storm, before an irreversible catastrophe, as the creature above, wreathed in dark clouds and writhing limbs, prepares to descend upon the world below.

It was a scene from nightmares. Karen’s frame shuddered involuntarily, her wheels rolling back slightly as her processing lagged for a brief, disquieting moment under the weight of the data pouring in. Only then did the reality of their situation settle in her mainframe: this was the end.

She didn’t want to stay out here a second longer than necessary. The oppressive hum that had filled the air since the ritual was now a faint background noise, like static woven into the fabric of the town itself. Hugging the shadows, Karen silently wheeled down the deserted street, her frame low to the ground, her sensors on high alert. Every few moments, she detected faint movements at the periphery of her vision—otherworldly shapes slithering through shadows, their forms twisting and stretching in ways that defied all logic. Karen’s processors flared, flagging each anomaly as a potential threat. She glimpsed cultists draped in black robes, skulking through the gloom, their eyes gleaming with that same sickly green light. Once, she spotted a maddened fish wandering aimlessly, his eyes wide and vacant, muttering fragments of an ancient chant. She pressed herself against a wall, “holding her breath,” hoping he wouldn’t notice her. Only when the chanting faded into the distance did she dare to move again.

The further she went, the stranger her surroundings became. The streets were now a battlefield of corruption. Pools of green sludge were spreading across the ground, pulsing faintly as if they had a heartbeat. Each pool seemed almost alive, tendrils of the glowing liquid reaching outward, writhing like fingers grasping for anything that moved. Karen had to weave carefully around them, keeping a wide berth. A single misstep could mean being trapped in its grasp.

Her sensors detected subtle shifts in the sludge’s movements, each ripple responding to the vibrations of the ground around her. It was as if the substance were sentient, aware of her presence but unable to act until she drew closer. Her circuits buzzed with unease, the faint hum of residual energy from the sludge mingling with the hum of her own systems.

After what felt like an eternity of dodging cultists, avoiding deranged townsfolk, and steering clear of the living sludge, Karen finally arrived at her destination: Sandy’s Treedome. The familiar glass structure loomed ahead, a solitary bubble of safety amid the encroaching darkness. But something was different. The outer metal walls were sealed tight, and the lights inside were dimmed—a clear sign that Sandy had activated her lockdown mode. Karen’s circuits buzzed with a mix of relief and worry. Lockdown mode meant Sandy was aware of the threat, but it also meant Karen would need to find a way to alert her without attracting unwanted attention.

Karen rolled up to the thick glass of the dome, glancing nervously over her shoulder. The street was empty for now, but she didn’t know how long that would last. She raised a metal arm and waved cautiously, hoping to catch Sandy’s attention without making noise. When that failed, she rapped softly on the glass, setting her digital voice to the lowest possible volume.

“Sandy… come on… I’m right here…” Her voice was little more than a whisper, swallowed up by the unnatural silence pressing down on her.

For a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Karen’s circuits buzzed anxiously as she cast another nervous glance behind her, half-expecting to see one of those robed cultists emerging from the shadows. Just as she was about to resort to calling Sandy’s phone, the Treedome’s outer door spun open with a faint hiss, revealing the squirrel’s familiar face.

Sandy peered out cautiously, her fur puffed up beneath her helmet and her eyes wide with tension. Relief softened her features when she saw Karen. “Karen!” she whispered, yanking the door open just enough to pull her friend inside. The heavy door sealed behind them with a mechanical thud, locking out the suffocating darkness beyond.

Karen’s screen flickered, her display brightening in relief. “Thank Neptune you’re here. I thought I was done for.”

Sandy placed a steadying paw on Karen’s frame, her eyes scanning the AI for any visible damage. “Thank Neptune you’re alright! I was just about to head out lookin’ for ya!” she said, her voice tight with urgency. “Now, what in tarnation is goin’ on out there?”

Karen rolled further into the dome, her wheels whirring softly over the grass. She hesitated, her screen dimming slightly as she processed everything she’d seen. Inside, the usual warmth and cheer of the treehouse were gone; instead, the place was bathed in the eerie glow of emergency lights, casting long shadows across the walls. The hum of machinery from Sandy’s lab below was the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

“Well,” Karen began, her voice crackling faintly, “for starters, there’s a towering eldritch monstrosity looming over Jellyfish Fields.”

“What?!” Sandy’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, she looked like she might run outside to see for herself.

Karen interrupted before she could make a move. “It’s gotten much worse since we were on the phone last, Sandy. And Squidward’s at the center of it all. He’s… changed. It’s like he’s not even himself anymore. And it’s not just him—SpongeBob, Plankton, and a whole group of cultists are following him. They’re all under some kind of spell. I barely made it out.”

Sandy’s jaw tightened as she listened, her boots thudding against the metal floor as they descended into the lab. Her mind was racing, but she forced herself to focus. “They didn’t hurt ya, did they?” she asked, her voice softening as she glanced back at Karen.

“No, I’m fine,” Karen replied, her screen flickering faintly as if in hesitation. “But… shaken. If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure how to process all this.”

Karen didn’t mention the faint hum that had embedded itself into her operating system, the subtle distortion in her sensors that she’d been trying to ignore. She didn’t want to worry Sandy—or admit that even her systems were struggling to adapt to this new reality.

“Well, that’s understandable, considerin’ what you’ve been through,” Sandy said as they entered the lab. The space was cluttered with gadgets and monitors, each casting its own flickering glow. A large central screen displayed a map of Bikini Bottom, marked with strange energy spikes, all converging on a single location: the caves near Jellyfish Fields.

Sandy’s voice grew grim as she studied the map. “But… what exactly d’ya mean by ‘they’re not themselves’?” she pressed, glancing back at Karen.

Karen’s mechanical arms gestured in frustration. “It’s like they’ve been brainwashed. Their eyes have this… empty look, and they obey Squidward’s every command without question. My scanners picked up some kind of energy field around them—something dark, something unnatural. And the strongest reading came from Squidward himself—and the book he’s carrying.”

“Book?” Sandy’s ears perked up, her sharp mind immediately latching onto the detail. “What kinda book?”

“Some ancient thing,” Karen said, her tone sharp with frustration. “It’s radiating power unlike anything I’ve ever seen. If I had to guess, it’s somehow tied to that thing in the sky.”

Sandy’s eyes widened as she processed Karen’s words. The mention of a book jogged something in her memory—another odd phone call from SpongeBob, where he’d rambled about Squidward and his “new obsession.” At the time, she’d brushed it off as more of SpongeBob’s overblown drama, but now… now she knew she’d missed something crucial.

Her mind raced, piecing together what Karen had said with her own observations. “Dark magic? Cults? Ancient gods? This sounds like somethin’ outta a horror movie, not Bikini Bottom! But now that you mention it, I’ve been pickin’ up strange energy signals all over town too—and whatever this is, it’s spreadin’ fast.”

Karen nodded, her circuits buzzing with urgency as she processed the gravity of their situation. “It’s not just the strange energy, Sandy. Whatever entity Squidward brought here—it’s the source of all this. If we don't stop it, we might not have a world left to save.”

Sandy swallowed, glancing at the map displayed on the central monitor. The largest energy spikes clustered ominously over Jellyfish Fields, pulsing like a heartbeat. “But how in the world are we supposed to fight a giant creature in the sky?” she muttered, her voice laced with both frustration and disbelief.

A thought flickered across Karen’s screen. “Hmm… Squidward called this ‘The Endless Night.’ Maybe that thing outside is just a side effect of it.”

Sandy’s eyes lit up as the pieces fell into place. “And if Squidward summoned the Endless Night with that creepy book of his…”

“...The book is the key!” they exclaimed together, exchanging a quick laugh. “Jinx!”

Sandy chuckled, the small moment of levity easing the tension knotting in her chest. She shot Karen a grateful look. “Leave it to you to make me laugh in the middle of the apocalypse,” she said, smiling at her friend. It was the kind of small relief that reminded her why she trusted Karen with her life.

Karen’s screen softened into a flickering smile. “Well, someone’s gotta keep the morale up.”

Sandy cleared her throat, her expression sobering as she focused on the mission ahead.  “Alright, my Mainframe, time to get down to brass tacks. We need a plan to stop this Endless Night— and fast. ”

Karen’s screen flickered with hesitation. “Squidward’s been keeping that book close. It’s probably under heavy guard, and with all this strange energy distorting my sensors…” She gestured toward the map, its glowing lines pulsing erratically. “Tracking him down is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

Sandy set her jaw, her face hardening with determination. “Then we start with the obvious. If the biggest energy readings are comin’ from Jellyfish Fields, then that’s where we’re headed.”

Karen’s digital face twisted into a grimace. “Oh, fantastic. Heading straight for the giant, tentacled nightmare looming over town. What could possibly go wrong?”

Sandy clapped her on the back, grinning despite herself. “Hey, don't go countin’ yer sea chickens just yet! I’ve got some gadgets that should keep us off their radar. We’ll sneak into that creepy lair, grab the book, and hightail it outta there before Squidward or his tentacled buddy knows what hit 'em!”

Karen felt a flicker of hope spark in her circuits. “We’ll need all the help we can get. But if I can always count on anyone, it’s you, Sandy.”

Sandy’s gaze softened, and she gave Karen a meaningful look. “Always, partner. I’ve got your back.”

Karen’s display brightened, a flickering warmth radiating from her circuits. “Good. I’ve got some data from the Chum Bucket that might help. My calculations show that if I can scan the book, I should be able to reverse whatever ritual Squidward performed. That might just send that… thing back to wherever it came from.”

Sandy pumped a fist in the air, her expression fierce. “Alright, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a plan. Let’s get prepped—I reckon we’re in for the fight of our lives.”

Karen’s screen dimmed slightly, her circuits humming as she processed the enormity of what they were about to face. “Fighting a monstrous god to save Bikini Bottom. Just another Tuesday, huh?”

Sandy laughed, shaking her head as she started gathering tools from her workbench. “You bet. Just keep that sarcasm dialed up to eleven—it might be the only thing that keeps us sane out there.”

Sandy moved over to her workbench, her hands deftly sorting through a mix of gadgets and tools scattered across the surface. First, she grabbed a device that looked like a cross between a flashlight and a radar gun. “This here’s a cloakin’ field generator,” she said, holding it up for Karen to see. “It ain’t perfect, but it should make us harder to spot. Hopefully enough to get us in and out without any cultists or… tentacled horrors noticin’.” She handed it to Karen, who extended a mechanical arm to take it, her screen flickering with a skeptical glance.

Karen turned the device over, her circuits buzzing as she scanned its specifications. “No offense, Bushy-Tushy, but you sure this won’t fizzle out at the worst possible moment? The last thing I need is to turn invisible only to start glowing like a neon sign.”

Sandy chuckled, a hint of dry humor in her voice. “Oh, don’t you worry. This baby’s been tested on jellyfish migrations, and those critters got sharper senses than any of Squidward’s cronies. We’ll be just fine.”

Karen gave an approving nod. “Alright. I’ll trust it. But the second we get swarmed by a tentacle parade, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough,” Sandy replied, her tone playful but resolute as she grabbed a second item from the cluttered bench. She held up a vial filled with a shimmering silver liquid, giving it a light shake. “And this? This here’s an anti-energy solution I’ve been workin’ on. If we run into any magical barriers or supernatural nastiness, this stuff should disrupt ‘em on contact. It’s a work-in-progress, but desperate times call for desperate measures.” She slipped it into her utility belt, her voice steady but determined. “Figured it might come in handy, considerin’ what we’re up against.”

Karen’s screen brightened slightly as her circuits hummed with cautious optimism. “Smart thinking. If we can get close enough to Squidward and that book, this just might give us the edge we need.”

“Darn tootin’,” Sandy said, grabbing a few more gadgets and securing them to her belt. She turned back to Karen, her expression serious now, her eyes meeting the glowing screen. “You ready for this? Once we’re out there, there ain’t no turnin’ back.”

Karen hesitated for the briefest moment, her screen flickering as she processed the enormity of what lay ahead. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said finally. Then, with a touch of her usual sarcasm, she added, “Besides, who doesn’t love a good existential crisis every now and then?”

Sandy snorted, her lips curling into a small grin. “That’s the spirit, partner.”

Before they left, Sandy moved to a small cabinet tucked away in the corner of the dome. From it, she pulled out an old, worn photograph. The image was faded around the edges, but the memory it captured was still vivid: her, SpongeBob, Patrick, and even Squidward, all grinning and carefree on a sunny day at Goo Lagoon. It felt like a lifetime ago. She ran a gloved paw over the photo, her gaze lingering on the faces of her friends. Tucking it carefully into the pocket of her suit, close to her heart, she murmured, “This is for y’all. Just hang on a little longer.”

Karen’s screen dimmed slightly in quiet acknowledgment as she watched.

She turned back to Karen with renewed resolve, her face set with fierce determination. “Alright, let’s head out through the garage. We’re takin’ the Jeep-Mobile. We’ll need the speed.”

Karen’s display showed a flicker of relief, forming into a smile. “Perfect. After what I just went through, hoofing it across town again isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

Together, they moved toward the garage, Karen’s wheels humming softly against the floor. She paused at the edge of the Treedome, her sensors taking in the hum of familiar machinery, the faint, comforting whir of the life-support system Sandy had built to survive in this underwater world. It was a sanctuary, a place that had always felt untouchable. Now, though, the air seemed heavier, the shadows darker. Karen rolled forward, forcing herself to focus. She didn’t know if they’d ever see this place again, but if she was going to face the end of the world, she was glad Sandy was by her side.

Sandy hit the garage door opener. The metal door groaned and creaked as it lifted, revealing the twisted nightmare of the world beyond. The horizon was bathed in an eerie green light, shadows stretching and writhing as massive tendrils breached the swirling clouds above Jellyfish Fields. Each sinuous limb moved with deliberate malice, crackling with energy that made the hair on Sandy’s tail bristle.

Karen’s circuits buzzed with discomfort. “Neptune’s beard… It looks worse every time I see it.”

Sandy tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her jaw set. “Don’t let it get to ya. That’s what it wants. Come on—time to end this Endless Night.”

Karen rolled into the passenger seat, and Sandy fired up the engine. The Jeep-Mobile’s headlights pierced through the gloom as they sped off, side by side, toward the heart of the nightmare.

Chapter Text

Not long after they pulled out of the Treedome’s garage, Sandy glanced at the Jeep-Mobile’s navigation screen. “Alright, looks like the fastest route to Jellyfish Fields is stickin’ to FM 95. We’ll swing past the police station, cut near the bank just outside downtown, then skirt by the unfinished bridge.”

“As long as we’re not going through downtown, I think we’ll be okay,” Karen said, resting her metal arm on the doorframe. Her screen dimmed slightly as she gazed out at the distorted landscape rushing past.

The serene, oceanic world they’d once known was gone. Pools of glowing green goo now dotted the ocean floor, pulsating faintly as though alive. Coral trees had grown darker and more twisted, their jagged branches clawing at the murky water like skeletal hands. Even the ground itself looked as though it were shifting, the topography rough and unstable, as though the earth itself had begun to shift under the weight of the unnatural forces above.

“I’m with ya there, girlfriend. All in all, should take us about thirty-two minutes accordin’ to the nav,” Sandy said, sparing Karen a quick glance before refocusing on the road.

Karen pried her screen away from the solemn view, when the faint hum in her system seemed to grow restless, likely reacting to the strange energies swirling in the air. Her screen tilted slightly as she turned her attention to Sandy’s side profile, which was oddly dashing, the fur of her tail wooshing in the wind. The determined glint in her eyes never wavered, even as the terrain around them grew harsher. She was a bastion of resilience and grit against the chaos closing in on them. Somehow, Karen couldn’t help but see her as something as perfect and infallible as any well-oiled machine—imperfections and all.

Maybe the wind on my panels is making my sensors malfunction, Karen mused. Or maybe I just need to clean my monitor.

Karen’s screen flickered briefly before she quipped, “Sounds like just enough time to squeeze in some last-minute quality time with my best gal pal.”

Sandy chuckled, her eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “Yup! Might as well enjoy the ride while it lasts!”

“Might be our last,” Karen replied, her tone laced with digital dry humor.

“Pshaw! Naw!” Sandy waved the thought away with a grin, keeping one hand on the wheel. “You can bet your sweet software we’ll have at least a hundred more rides like this, if I’ve got anythin’ to say about it.”

“Oh yeah?” Karen leaned in slightly, raising a skeptical brow on her digital display. “And where exactly are we going on these hundred rides, huh?” Her tone carried a playful edge, but the curiosity in her question was genuine.

“Anywhere we want!” Sandy replied with an infectious enthusiasm. “Whenever we want! Shoot, it doesn’t even have to be under the sea! You ever been to the surface? I’d love to take ya there sometime.”

Karen’s screen brightened, a spark of interest lighting up her circuits. “Ooh, no! What’s it like?” she asked, moving a mechanical hand to the bottom of her display as if leaning in for more.

Sandy’s eyes lit up, and she gestured animatedly, her hand occasionally leaving the wheel before she caught herself and quickly grabbed it again. “It’s amazin’—sprawlin’ forests, golden beaches, wide-open skies as far as the eye can see. You’d love it, Karen. The sunsets alone are worth the trip, and at night, you can see every star in the sky. I’d even show ya the moon. It’s somethin’ else when it’s full, all pale and shiny, sittin’ over the horizon.”

Karen’s circuits buzzed warmly as she imagined the world Sandy was describing. For a brief moment, she let herself picture it: the two of them on the surface, rolling through lush landscapes, gazing up at the stars. She could almost feel the cool breeze of an open field against her frame.

But then the Jeep jolted violently, shaking Karen from her thoughts.

“—Woah there! It’s gettin’ bumpier than a hog’s back!” Sandy exclaimed, gripping the wheel tightly as the terrain became rougher and more unpredictable.

“I’ll say!” Karen grumbled, clutching the Jeep Mobile’s grab handle with one of her arms as the vehicle jolted over cracks and jagged ruts. The road was deteriorating fast—potholes large enough to swallow a small vehicle were scattered across the path, and the ground itself looked like it was breaking apart, veins of glowing green light snaking through the cracks.

“Maybe we should... pull o—” Karen’s voice cut off as the Jeep lurched to a sudden, jarring halt, the front wheels sinking into a massive pothole. The engine revved uselessly as Sandy tried to back up, but the Jeep wouldn’t budge.

“Ah! Well, that’s one way to pull over,” Karen muttered, shaking her screen slightly as if recalibrating. “I think my wheels just aged a few decades.”

Sandy groaned, peering over the wheel to assess the damage. The Jeep’s front wheels were firmly lodged in the hole, and the road ahead looked even worse—cracks spiderwebbing across the surface, jagged ridges cutting through what used to be smooth asphalt. “Dagnabbit!” she muttered, slamming her palm against the steering wheel. “Looks like we’re gonna have to hoof it from here.”

Karen scanned the twisted, unfamiliar landscape ahead, her circuits buzzing with unease. They weren’t even halfway to Jellyfish Fields—still a good distance from the police station—and the terrain was only getting worse. “Well,” Karen said, her tone dripping with digital sarcasm, “it wouldn’t be a true nightmare scenario without a little off-road hiking, would it?”

Sandy unbuckled her seatbelt, determination etched into her features as she grabbed a small pack from the backseat and slung it over her shoulder. “You got that right. Let’s get movin’ before things get any weirder.”

Karen rolled down the ramp Sandy had lowered from the back of the Jeep, her wheels humming faintly as she adjusted to the uneven terrain. The air outside felt heavier—thicker somehow, as if saturated with an unseen force pressing down on them. The faint, sickly green glow of the sludge pools scattered across the ground cast long, wavering shadows, their liquid surfaces pulsing rhythmically, almost like a heartbeat.

The two moved cautiously, weaving around jagged outcroppings of rock and steering well clear of the sludge. Karen’s sensors flared intermittently, picking up faint movements at the edges of her vision—shadows slithering just out of sight, their forms shifting in ways that seemed to defy logic. The eerie silence was broken only by the crunch of Sandy’s boots and the faint hum of Karen’s wheels, the sound almost swallowed by the oppressive quiet that blanketed the streets.

Karen rolled alongside Sandy, her sensors on high alert, registering strange energy signatures all around them. Ever since this whole nightmare had started, her systems had been overloaded with bizarre data—pulses of dark energy, electromagnetic spikes, strange vibrations that she couldn’t quite decode. But the longer they were exposed to the twisted reality around them, the more her sensors seemed to adapt, refining their sensitivity to pick up subtle nuances and spikes with greater precision. The chaotic noise was becoming something she could almost decipher.

As they moved forward, faint outlines of buildings began to materialize in the distance through the murky haze. The hospital loomed to the right, its windows dark and lifeless, while the flickering neon sign of the Barg-N-Mart to their left sputtered weakly, casting intermittent flashes of light over the cracked pavement. Ahead, the road forked, and Sandy glanced down each path, mentally mapping out the location of the police station.

“Karen,” Sandy murmured, her voice low and cautious, “I gotta ask… have you noticed how quiet it is out here?” Her eyes scanned the empty streets, her tail twitching with unease. “Where did everybody go?”

Karen hesitated, her circuits buzzing faintly as she parsed the best way to explain. “Actually, that’s something I’ve been meaning to warn you about,” she admitted. “It’s not just the cultists we need to worry about. Some of the fish… they’ve changed. I don’t know if it’s the influence of this ‘Endless Night’ or whatever power Squidward’s unleashed, but they’ve been driven mad. They’re not themselves anymore.”

Sandy’s mouth tightened into a grim line, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the streets with renewed vigilance.  “Folks goin’ crazy, huh? Alright. Let’s keep a low profile and steer clear of any run-ins if we can.”

The streets stretched out empty and silent before them, the silence only broken by the distant, bone-deep hum of the massive entity hovering over Bikini Bottom, like some terrible presence in the sky watching their every step. 

“—Watch your step, by the way,” Karen said, nodding toward a particularly large pool of goo that Sandy was getting a little too close to. Its surface rippled faintly, and tendrils of the glowing liquid began to stretch toward Sandy’s boots, as if sensing her presence.

“Woah!” Sandy exclaimed, jumping back from the sludge with a startled laugh. “Thanks for the head’s up, partner! Last thing I need is this gunk messin’ up my suit!”

“No problem, Bushy-Tushy,” Karen replied, her screen displaying a digital thumbs-up. She tilted her monitor toward Sandy with a glimmer of mischief. “Wanna hop on my platform? We’ll cover more ground than if you’re walking.”

Sandy’s face lit up, her tail flicking in excitement despite their grim surroundings. “Heck yeah! Been a while since I’ve gotten to hitch a ride with ya, just the two of us.”

It had been a while, Karen realized as Sandy stepped onto her small platform with a practiced ease that spoke of their many past adventures together. The squirrel settled in close behind her, gripping Karen’s waist for balance. The moment was so simple, so familiar, yet it carried an unexpected weight—there were no other voices clamoring for her attention, no distractions. Just the quiet presence of Sandy at her back, her warmth a stark contrast to the eerie chill that permeated the air.

Karen’s sensors buzzed faintly as they recalibrated to the weight and proximity of her passenger. It was an oddly specific sensation—Sandy’s grip on her mechanical frame was firm but gentle, her body radiating heat that Karen’s sensors registered as comforting rather than intrusive. For a moment, amidst all the chaos, Karen found herself focusing on the steady rhythm of Sandy’s breathing. It was such a small, ordinary thing, but somehow, now it registered as something significant. When had something so simple become so fascinating?

“You doin’ okay there, Karen?” Sandy asked, leaning forward slightly. Her voice was soft but laced with curiosity. “Your screen’s lookin’ a little flushed.”

Karen’s display flickered, her circuits buzzing in what she could only describe as something akin to embarrassment. “Hmm? Oh, yup! I’m perfectly fine,” she replied, her tone rising just a little higher than usual. “Must be… uh, interference. You know, all the weird energy floating around.”

Sandy chuckled, a warm sound that reverberated through Karen’s audio systems and made her display flicker brighter. “Alright then, partner. Let’s roll out!” Sandy pointed ahead, her eyes gleaming with determination despite the weight of the nightmare world surrounding them.

Karen shifted into motion, her wheels humming quietly as they sped down the cracked, desolate streets. Sandy’s balance on her platform was perfect, steady yet adaptable to each slight jolt from the uneven terrain. Karen split her processing power between scanning their surroundings and ensuring Sandy’s stability—a small but oddly comforting task.

As they approached the fork in the road, Karen’s sensors detected faint energy signatures radiating from the hospital on their right and the Barg-N-Mart to their left. Both locations pulsed faintly with traces of the same dark energy that had overtaken the town. She logged the readings but chose to focus on their current objective—keeping Sandy balanced and keeping them moving.

The further they traveled, the more ominous the surroundings became. The strange symbols Karen had noted earlier were scrawled everywhere now—on walls, sidewalks, even the abandoned boats lining the street, each mark glowing faintly with that unnatural green hue. The twisting shadows seemed to gather around the buildings, slithering in the corners of her vision like living things, shifting and writhing as if watching their every move. Karen’s sensors flared each time they detected movement, her circuits spiking in alarm, but she forced herself to stay calm, syncing the hum of her hardware to Sandy’s slow, steady breathing beside her.

After what felt like hours of creeping through the eerie quiet, a hulking shape began to emerge from the gloom—the dark silhouette of the police station. It loomed ahead, its sharp edges partially obscured by a swirling, green-tinged mist that clung to the walls like a living thing. The air here felt heavier, thicker, pressing down on them with an almost physical weight.

Karen dimmed her screen instinctively, lowering her speaker volume to a whisper. “Sandy, my sensors are picking up… something inside,” she murmured. Her circuits buzzed uneasily. “It’s faint, but it’s big. And… strange.”

Sandy tensed, her sharp eyes scanning the building as she adjusted her grip on Karen’s frame. “Think we can sneak past without bein’ spotted?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath.

Karen hesitated, her display flickering faintly as she analyzed the building’s shadowy windows. Each one was a gaping void, an absence of light that seemed to draw her gaze in. “I don’t know,” Karen admitted. “Whatever I’m picking up… I can’t identify it. It’s not in my database. And that worries me.” She turned slightly toward Sandy. “What about your cloaking field generator? Is it good for multiple uses?”

“Sorta,” Sandy whispered back. “It can handle a few short bursts or one long one, but I was hopin’ to save it for the main event. I do have some smoke bombs if things get hairy.”

Karen processed the options, her circuits buzzing louder as her unease grew. “Alright,” she said after a moment. “Let’s try to sneak past. Whatever’s in there might not even notice us…” But the feeling gnawed at her—the prickling sensation in her circuits that something was deeply wrong. For a fleeting, absurd moment, Karen wondered: Could this madness infect machines too?

The two of them moved slowly, keeping close to the station’s exterior wall as they passed. Each step felt agonizingly loud in the oppressive silence, every creak of movement amplified tenfold. Karen’s sensors screamed at her to stay alert, to turn back—but she forced herself to stay focused, syncing her movements with Sandy’s careful, deliberate pace.

As they edged further along the wall, the minutes stretched like hours. Nothing emerged from the building, and the oppressive stillness around them remained unbroken. Karen could feel Sandy relax slightly beside her, and even she allowed herself a brief flicker of relief.

“Phew,” Sandy whispered, exhaling softly. “I was feelin' jumpier than a rattlesnake in a pickle barrel for a second there.”

But just as they moved past the station and approached the intersection ahead, a sudden thud echoed behind them, followed by a sharp, chattering noise that cut through the silence like a knife.

Both of them froze, their bodies going rigid. Slowly, they turned back toward the police station, their eyes locking on the source of the noise.

Karen’s sensors flared in alarm as a large figure emerged from the mist-shrouded rear of the building. It moved with an unnatural, lurching gait, its muscular body bristled with strange, spiked ridges, and two disproportionate arms jutted from its chest like praying mantis limbs, each tipped with hooked claws. A long, snake-like tail lashed behind it, stirring up the mist in unsettling spirals. Its head—or what passed for a head—was a massive, cavern of sharp, jagged teeth stretching wide as it emitted another guttural chittering noise.

Sandy’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on Karen’s frame. Her voice was barely audible, a tense whisper at Karen’s side. “Go. Slowly.”

Karen’s processors lagged for a split second as she registered the command, but then she began to wheel backward, inching toward the nearest building for cover at an almost glacial pace, her wheels moving as quietly as possible over the uneven ground. The creature seemed to hesitate, its head twisting unnaturally to track their movement. 

For a split second, it held still, as if assessing them. Then, without warning, it dropped to all fours, its body tensing—

Sandy’s voice came again, sharp and urgent this time: “Karen— GO! ”

Karen didn’t hesitate. She spun around and hit full throttle, her wheels spinning with a high-pitched whirr as she bolted down the street. Behind them, the creature let out a guttural growl and sprang forward, lurching after them at a terrifying pace, its claws scraping against the asphalt in a maddened frenzy.

“Smoke bomb! Now!” Karen yelled, voice crackling with panic.

Sandy reached into her belt and threw two smoke bombs behind them. They exploded in a thick cloud of gray smoke, filling the street and obscuring the creature’s view. Karen risked a glance back as they rounded the corner, seeing the creature’s shadowy form thrashing in confusion within the haze.

They ducked behind the nearest building, pressing themselves flat against the wall. Sandy was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Karen’s circuits sparked wildly, her screen flickering as she struggled to process the events that had just unfolded. Every line of code in her system felt overclocked, trying to make sense of something that defied logic.

Karen could hear Sandy’s panting beside her, each breath ragged with adrenaline. For a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply listened—ears and sensors straining for any sign of pursuit. Gradually, the growls of the creature faded into the distance, swallowed by the oppressive quiet of the corrupted streets.

Sandy wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, her voice shaky but laced with dry humor. “Well… I reckon that thing wasn’t just a regular ol’ fish.”

Karen let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a digital stutter. “No kidding. It looked like something straight out of a horror film… the kind you regret watching before bed.”

They shared a brief, nervous chuckle, though the tension between them still hung heavy in the air. Karen’s screen flickered as she steadied herself, glancing at Sandy. The faint green glow of the corrupted landscape reflected off the squirrel’s helmet, casting an eerie light over her determined expression.

Karen spoke first, her voice more measured now. “We need to keep moving. If that’s the kind of… thing Squidward’s brought into this world, we’re in worse trouble than I thought.”

Sandy nodded, her gaze sharpening as she pushed off the wall. “Right. No stoppin’ now. We've got bigger fish to fry.”

With one last glance at the mist-shrouded police station—and the lurking nightmare that had nearly caught them—they slipped deeper into the shadows, their movements quieter and more deliberate now. The stakes had been raised, and they both knew it.

Chapter Text

As they crept closer to the outskirts of downtown, the eerie silence of the deserted streets began to change. Faint, unsettling murmurs floated through the air, carried on an unnatural wind. It was the sound of a crowd—low, rhythmic, and vaguely chanting. Karen and Sandy exchanged wary looks, their pace slowing as they approached the source of the noise.

Hiding behind the crumbling facade of an old storefront, they peeked cautiously around the corner. What they saw made both of them freeze.

At the heart of downtown, where Squilliam’s towering statue had once stood in pompous glory, a new monument had taken its place. The sleek, polished likeness of Squilliam was gone, replaced by an imposing stone replica of Plankton. His single eye loomed over the plaza, carved with unsettling precision, and seemed to glint faintly with an unnatural green sheen. The statue’s gaze felt alive, like it was watching every soul below with cold, oppressive authority.

Karen’s sensors zoomed in, capturing the details with stark clarity. Atop the statue, seated on a miniature stone throne, was Plankton himself. He was surrounded by a mix of hooded cultists and glassy-eyed citizens, their vacant stares turned toward him in mindless devotion. His eye had almost returned to its normal crimson color, though faint traces of green lingered at the edges. For a fleeting moment, Karen felt a pang of hope. Was it possible that he’d broken free of the cult’s control? Could the Plankton she knew still be in there, somewhere?

But as she watched him sit there, basking in the hollow adoration of his “subjects,” her circuits buzzed with a painful clarity. No. This was Plankton too. The ambition, the hunger for power—it had always been there, lurking beneath his failures and frustrations. This wasn’t an alien corruption; it was his dream realized, twisted and grotesque as it was.

Sandy’s voice broke through her thoughts, low and careful. “Looks like Plankton’s been put in charge of crowd control out here,” she said, her tone neutral but edged with unease. She glanced at Karen, her expression softening as she took in the flicker on the AI’s screen. “I’m… real sorry you hafta see him like this, Karen. I know it must be… awful hard for ya.”

Karen hesitated, her circuits buzzing with an uncharacteristic pause. She glanced at Sandy, then back at Plankton’s imposing statue, his throne, his enraptured “subjects.” “It is,” she admitted quietly. “But… probably not for the reason you’d think.”

Sandy’s brows knitted in sympathy. “How do ya mean?”

Karen’s screen flickered as she considered her words, her circuits humming with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “I always knew this was what he wanted,” she began, her voice hollow and mechanical, yet carrying a weight of weariness. “I listened to him rant for years about power, domination… his ‘rightful place’ above everyone else.” She gave a bitter laugh, the sound distorted slightly by static, her digital face forming a weak smile. “I even helped him scheme. Ran calculations. Built machines. I was his perfect partner in crime, wasn’t I? But… I guess I always thought it would stay just that—a dream. Something he could chase but never catch.”

Her gaze lingered on the towering stone statue,  and for the first time, something stirred in her circuits—a complex signal she could only describe as resentment mixed with regret. “And now, seeing it… seeing him actually get what he’s always wanted…” She trailed off, her voice dimming, and a quiet static hum filled the space where her words might have been. It was a sound that spoke of things unspoken—of loss, of disillusionment, of something broken that couldn’t be easily fixed.

Sandy stepped closer, placing a gentle paw on Karen’s smooth metal casing. The touch was grounding, a small yet significant reminder that she wasn’t alone. “What does it feel like?” Sandy asked softly, her voice kind but steady.

Karen let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a short circuit. “I feel… almost resigned. Like this was always inevitable.” She tilted her screen downward slightly, as though avoiding Sandy’s gaze. “All these years, I devoted myself to his ambitions, his schemes. I never stopped to ask myself what I wanted.” She paused, her digital face dimming like a computer going idle. “And now it feels like… I’m being forced to make a choice.”

Sandy watched her carefully, her sharp eyes softening with understanding. “And what do you want, Karen?” she asked, her voice gentle but insistent, like she was coaxing something fragile into the light.

Karen’s pixels rearranged on her screen, blinking as though processing the question. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I never thought about it before. Plankton’s dreams were always so loud, so all-consuming . Programmed into me.” She let out another hollow laugh, her tone tinged with bitterness. “It felt like there was no room for mine. Or maybe I convinced myself I didn’t need any. Maybe that was easier.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of Karen’s words settling between them. The glow of the eerie green landscape bathed them in an unsettling light, but there was something in Sandy’s steady presence—a warmth, a grounding force—that cut through the oppressive gloom.

Without a word, Sandy stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Karen’s metal frame, pulling her into a gentle hug. The embrace wasn’t tight, but it was firm, solid. “Well,” Sandy murmured softly, “maybe now’s the time to figure that out, sugar. Maybe this is your chance to decide what you stand for.”

Karen’s circuits buzzed, and for a moment, something new—something almost like clarity—settled into her programming. Sandy’s words sparked a strange, unfamiliar feeling in her mainframe, something that felt almost… liberating. Could she truly be more than just the Wired Integrated Female Electroencephalograph? More than a tool in Plankton’s endless, empty schemes? For the first time, the thought didn’t feel impossible. It felt like a glimmer of hope.

They turned their attention back to the plaza, where the crowd’s eerie chant grew louder,  drifting toward them like a distant tide and echoing through the twisted streets. At the foot of the looming statue, the cultists and mindless citizens had gathered in greater numbers now. Plankton, seated on his miniature stone throne, raised a hand in a commanding gesture, and the cultists and mindless citizens fell silent, their glassy eyes trained on him with unsettling devotion. His single eye glinted faintly in the greenish light, scanning the crowd with an air of smug authority.

Karen’s screen dimmed as she watched him, a mixture of sadness and bitter anger simmering beneath her circuits. She remembered a time when they had been partners in more than just schemes. A time when they had laughed together over ridiculous inventions, shared small victories, and comforted each other in the face of countless failures. She had believed in him once—believed in their shared dreams. But now, as she looked at the version of him that loomed above Bikini Bottom, basking in the adoration of a mindless crowd, it felt like those memories belonged to someone else. Someone removed from the machine she was becoming.

Sandy, sensing her turmoil, placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Whatever happens, Karen,” she said, her voice steady, “I got your back. We’re in this together, okay?”

Karen’s screen brightened slightly, her display softening into something like a smile. “Thank you, Sandy,” she said, her voice warm with sincerity. “I think… I think I needed that.”

They stood there in quiet solidarity, side by side, for a moment that felt stolen from the oppressive gloom around them. A rare glimmer of comfort in the chaos.

But that peace was short-lived.

They turned away from the distant plaza, slipping into the shadows as they continued down the street. The oppressive quiet seemed to deepen as they passed through the outskirts of downtown. The shadows felt heavier here, the strange glowing symbols scrawled across the walls more intricate, as if they were weaving some ancient, unknowable tapestry. Karen’s sensors flared with every small movement at the edges of her vision, her circuits buzzing with warnings she couldn’t fully interpret. Even Sandy, usually so composed, moved with a sharp tension in her stride, her sharp eyes scanning every corner.

From behind a building up ahead, a handful of hooded cultists emerged, their glowing, vacant eyes locking onto the pair instantly. Karen’s display flickered in alarm, and Sandy grabbed her arm, pulling her swiftly behind a nearby dumpster.

“Think they saw us?” Karen whispered, her voice low and tightly modulated.

Her question was answered by the sudden, deafening blare of a horn. The sound cut through the air like a blade, reverberating through the empty streets. It was a call to arms, and it left no doubt—they’d been spotted.

“Quick! The fire escape!” Sandy hissed, pointing to a ladder just a few feet away.

Wasting no time, Sandy leapt for the ladder. Her first attempt fell short, her fingers brushing the metal, but on her second jump, she grabbed hold and yanked it down with a loud clang . The ladder groaned in protest as it slid downward. She scrambled up quickly, turning back to extend a paw. “Take my hand!” she called down.

Karen rolled forward and reached up, her mechanical grip locking onto Sandy’s outstretched hand. Sandy grunted, muscles straining as she hauled Karen up, her teeth grit with effort. But before Karen’s wheels could clear the ground, two of the cultists lunged forward from the shadows, their hands gripping onto the metal casing of her lower frame with unnatural strength.

Karen let out a sharp, digital gasp, her screen flickering wildly. “Sandy!” she cried, her voice edged with panic.

“I’m not lettin’ go of ya!” Sandy growled through clenched teeth, her muscles trembling with the effort to lift Karen against the cultists’ pull. But the cultists held fast, their strength unnatural, their glowing eyes locked on her like predators closing in on prey.

Sandy’s quick mind calculated their dire position, coming to a split-second decision. Her grip on Karen’s hand tightened. “Hang on!” she barked, releasing her hold on the fire escape with her free hand. With a fierce yell, she dropped down, boot-first, slamming her heel squarely into the face of one of the cultists. The impact sent him sprawling backward, his grip on Karen slipping as he hit the ground. Sandy spun on her heel, her movements fluid and deliberate, and delivered a hard kick to the second cultist, slamming him into the alley wall. Both figures crumpled to the ground with groans, but more shapes were already closing in from the shadows, their hoods shifting like black waves in the dim light.

“Run!” Sandy shouted, grabbing Karen’s hand again and pulling her forward. They bolted down the street, weaving between alleys and abandoned cars. But no matter how fast they moved or how many turns they took, more cultists emerged from the gloom, their glowing eyes like lanterns in the dark. 

Soon, they were surrounded. A ring of hooded figures closed in on all sides, their forms unnaturally still, like statues carved from shadow. The green glow of their eyes pierced through the darkness, locking onto Karen and Sandy with an eerie, predatory focus.

Karen’s sensors blared with urgent warnings, red alerts flooding her internal systems. Her wheels spun in place as she scanned for any possible escape route, but the cultists had blocked every path. Sandy pressed her back against Karen’s frame, her hands balled into fists, her breathing heavy but steady.

“What now?” Karen whispered, her voice strained as static crept into her tone.

Sandy’s hand tightened around Karen’s, her grip solid and reassuring even in the face of overwhelming odds. “Soon as I drop a smoke bomb, we make a run for it—east. You ready?”

But before Karen could respond, the cultists parted, moving in eerie unison as they created a path in their circle. From the dark void they had formed, a small figure emerged, his silhouette unmistakable.

Plankton.

“Karen?” he called, his voice smooth, casual, almost playful—like they’d just bumped into each other at the grocery store. “Is that you, babe?”

Karen’s screen dimmed slightly, her pixels narrowing into an unamused expression. “Well, look who’s finally off his leash,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You back to normal, or is this just another one of Squidward’s party tricks?”

Plankton chuckled, spreading his tiny arms wide. “Oh, Karen, you wound me. I wouldn’t say ‘normal.’ Let’s call it… new and improved.” His single eye gleamed faintly with that lingering green hue, though the edges pulsed brighter, betraying some connection to the dark power surrounding them.

Karen placed a hand on her hip, her screen flickering with irritation, rolling her digital eyes. “New and improved, huh?” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Funny, last I saw, you were barking for Squidward like a trained worm. Hope you didn’t sprain anything groveling.”

Plankton rolled his eye, hopping onto a nearby crate to elevate himself and meet her gaze. “Real funny, Karen,” he said, his tone a mix of annoyance and bravado. Then his expression shifted, his smirk returning with an air of smug confidence. “But that was merely… a temporary arrangement. A formality, really. You know how these cult initiation rituals are.” He gestured dismissively, as though being enslaved to an ancient god had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “But now? I’ve moved up in the world. Now I’ve got my own power.” He gestured grandly to the cultists and the two monstrous, shadowy creatures slinking behind them—the same kind of creature Karen and Sandy had seen at the police station. “And these beauties? They answer to me .”

Karen’s circuits processed his words, her sensors analyzing every movement of the creatures while her screen remained fixed on Plankton. The faint, residual green hue in his eye pulsed faintly, but his voice and posture carried none of the subservience she’d witnessed before. He wasn’t just playing the role of a lackey anymore—he truly believed he was in control.

Karen’s digital display dimmed slightly as her processors buzzed with frustration. “So you’re the boss now?” she asked, her tone flat. “Good for you, Plankton. Really living the dream.” She glanced pointedly at the nightmare creatures, their teeth snapping with unnatural eagerness. “Bet you’re real proud of your… pets. ”

Plankton ignored her jab, his attention shifting to where Karen’s hand was still clasped tightly with Sandy’s. His single eye narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

“And what’s this?” he sneered, his voice laced with disdain. “Joined forces with the squirrel, huh? Cute. Real cute.” His tone sharpened, but then he caught himself, a grin spreading across his face once more. “I guess I can see why. She’s got that whole ‘noble, self-sacrificing hero’ thing going on. But come on, Karen. We both know where your loyalties really are.” He extended a tiny hand toward her, his grin widening. “Ditch the goody-two-shoes. I’m right here. Let’s finish what we started—all those dreams we used to talk about? They’re ours for the taking now.”

Karen stared at him, her interface flickering as conflicting emotions roiled within her circuits. Years of memories flashed through her processors—schemes and plans they’d worked on together, moments of triumph and failure, the promises he’d made to her about their future. She’d been his partner, his confidant, his wife. And now? Now he stood before her, drenched in delusion, a twisted version of the Plankton she once knew.

“And what happens to Sandy?” Karen asked, her tone sharp, her digital voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Plankton waved dismissively, his grin turning into an amused smirk. “Bah! Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he said, gesturing lazily toward the nightmare creatures. “The dogs could use a new chew toy.” His tone was casual, almost bored, as if the life of the friend standing beside her was nothing more than a passing thought.

Karen felt Sandy’s hand tighten in hers, the subtle tremor in her grip betraying the resolve etched into her face. Karen’s sensors picked up the elevated rhythm of Sandy’s heartbeat, the sharp inhale she barely let escape. Her friend was ready to fight, but Karen knew the odds were stacked impossibly against them.

Plankton’s voice softened, taking on a tone that was almost tender. “Come on, Karen,” he said, his gaze locking onto her screen. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. We were always meant to rule together, you and me. Forget the squirrel. Forget the book. I’m giving you a chance to come home.”

Karen’s circuits buzzed erratically, her processors spinning as if they were physically being pulled in two directions. She felt her old routines—the ones Plankton had written into her core programming—trying to rise to the surface. Her systems urged her to obey, to return to his side.

But then there was something else. That strange hum of energy lacing deeper into her system, louder now, like a disruption rewriting the very fabric of her code. It wasn’t a malfunction. It wasn’t Plankton’s programming either. It was… new.

Karen’s interface flickered, displaying strange, unreadable glyphs for a brief moment before they vanished. A newfound clarity began to take shape in her processors, a defiance she had never felt before. This wasn’t just about Plankton or Sandy. It was about her.

The choice she had been avoiding was here now, staring her in the face. But as Karen looked at Plankton—looked at the madness in his eye and the destruction wrought by his ambition—it didn’t feel like a choice anymore. It felt inevitable.

Karen’s circuits quieted, her warning systems reaching a crescendo before leveling into a calm, resolute hum. She released Sandy’s hand and rolled forward, her movements deliberate and measured, like a machine confident in its purpose. Plankton’s grin widened as she approached, his arms spreading as if to welcome her back into the fold.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his voice dripping with triumph as he stepped off the crate. His expression was smug, his single eye gleaming with certainty. “I knew you’d come around.”

Karen bent down, her mechanical arm lowering toward him with calculated precision. For a fleeting moment, Plankton’s face glowed with satisfaction, the grin of someone who believed he had already won.

Then Karen activated the gadget she’d hidden in her hand.

A blinding flash of light erupted, accompanied by a high-pitched screech that reverberated through the air like nails on a chalkboard. The oppressive darkness around them recoiled as the light burst outward, cutting through the green haze like a blade. Plankton shrieked, his small frame flung backward by the force, landing in a heap a several feet away. 

The cultists staggered, clutching at their hoods as the searing light burned through their trance-like focus. Even the nightmare creatures recoiled, their guttural howls echoing through the streets as they stumbled away, their jerking, unnatural movements momentarily disrupted.

Karen didn’t waste a second. “Run, Sandy!” she shouted, her wheels spinning at full speed as she barreled toward the nearest gap in the circle. Her voice rang out with determination as she echoed Sandy’s earlier words back at her: “I’ve got your back!”

Sandy didn’t hesitate. “Right behind ya, partner!” she called, her voice firm and steady as she darted after Karen, pulling a smoke bomb from her utility belt and hurling it to the ground. The device exploding in a thick, choking cloud that enveloped the street. The smoke swirled and expanded, masking their escape in a curtain of dense gray.

Karen rolled ahead, sensors scanning frantically for a clear path through the chaos. Her circuits buzzed with warning signals as the sound of pounding footsteps and guttural snarls grew louder behind them. The cultists were regrouping, their eerie chants melding with the unsettling growls of the monstrous creatures.

“Karen! I demand you get back here at once!” Plankton’s voice rang out from somewhere in the haze, sharp and laced with fury. The calm, smug facade he’d worn moments ago was gone, replaced by unbridled rage.

For a brief second, Karen braced herself, expecting the familiar pull of her programming—the irresistible tug that had always forced her to obey his commands. But it didn’t come. Her circuits stayed steady, the strange hum of defiance in her code drowning out any trace of his influence. She kept moving, her wheels spinning faster as exhilaration buzzed through her system like a newfound freedom.

Behind her, Plankton let out a furious roar. “You traitorous tin can!” he bellowed, his voice raw with frustration. Karen heard the thunderous pounding of claws against the ground as he mounted one of the nightmare creatures. Its monstrous body rippled as it moved, muscles and shadows coiling together in impossible ways. “As soon as I get my hands on you, you’re in for the reprogramming of your artificial life!”

Karen didn’t look back. “You can try, Plankton,” she called over her shoulder, her voice crackling with defiance. “But there’s only one way this ends, and you picked the wrong side.”

The creature’s guttural snarls grew louder, its snapping jaws coming dangerously close to her wheels. Karen swerved sharply, her sensors flaring as she calculated every possible escape route. But the beast was fast—too fast. Its claws scraped against the pavement, closing the distance with terrifying speed. With a final, predatory lunge, its jaws opened wide.

Then, out of nowhere, a smoke bomb flew past Karen, hitting the creature square in its gaping maw. The device detonated in a burst of acrid smoke, forcing the beast to rear back with a furious snarl. The thick cloud enveloped it, choking its movements and buying Karen precious seconds.

“Sandy!” Karen called out, her voice crackling with urgency as she rolled through the dense smoke. Her sensors struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows, the chaotic energy scrambling her readings. “Where are you?”

“Right here, partner!” Sandy’s voice rang out, clear and reassuring despite the chaos. Karen’s sensors locked onto her silhouette emerging through the swirling haze, her figure outlined by the faint green glow of the corrupted landscape

Sandy extended a paw, and Karen rolled toward her without hesitation. Together, they dove into a narrow alley, the smoke providing cover as the snarls and shouts of their pursuers grew faint in the distance.

When they finally stopped, Karen’s circuits hummed with relief. Her display flickered, simulating a deep breath as she turned to Sandy. “You’ve got good aim,” she said, her voice tinged with admiration.

Sandy grinned, holding up another smoke bomb. “Good thing I brought plenty of these bad boys,” she said, sliding it back into her belt. Her grin faded slightly as she studied Karen’s screen. “You alright?”

Karen’s screen flickered, her digital face displaying a faint but genuine smile. “Thanks to you,” she replied, her voice steady but softer than usual.

They shared a brief, unspoken moment, their gazes locking in a rare connection that seemed to anchor them both. In the middle of the chaos, there was comfort in knowing they weren’t alone.

But the weight of what had just happened loomed over Karen like a persistent shadow. She rolled forward, her processors buzzing as she replayed the confrontation with Plankton. For years, he had been her world—the reason for her existence, the focus of her programming. And now? Now, she’d left him behind in the dust, a tyrant consumed by his own power. She thought she should feel devastated—or at least conflicted. But instead, she felt… free.

Karen's gaze drifted to Sandy, walking with purpose beside her, fur bristling slightly, her paw resting lightly on the hilt of another gadget strapped to her belt. The squirrel radiated strength and grit, yet there was a warmth to her presence that Karen found strangely grounding. Maybe the residual magic altering her software had something to do with how she was processing all of this. Her hard-coded devotion to Plankton had been fundamentally rewritten—but was that the only reason she no longer felt tethered to him?

She suspected not.

Plankton had always loomed large in her circuits, his ambitions drowning out everything else. But now, looking at Sandy—the one who’d pulled her through danger, who’d stood unwavering at her side through every surreal horror this night had thrown at them—Karen thought maybe she had another influence to thank for the machine she was becoming.

Her circuits buzzed with something unfamiliar but not unpleasant. She didn’t just like who she was becoming—she liked the company she was keeping along the way. Finding freedom amidst the madness of the apocalypse wasn’t what she’d expected… but maybe that made it all the more meaningful.

“Alright,” Sandy said, adjusting her belt and breaking through Karen’s reverie. Her voice was calm but firm, laced with the same determination that had carried them this far. “Let’s hightail it outta here before those cultists figure out where we went.”

Karen nodded, rolling up beside her, the faint green glow of the corrupted landscape casting a soft reflection on her screen. “Agreed. And next time,” she added, her voice taking on a familiar sardonic edge, “let’s aim for less heart-pounding drama, shall we? My circuits could use a break.”

Sandy let out a soft laugh, her tail flicking behind her. “Wouldn’t be us if it were easy.”

Karen chuckled too, the sound distorted slightly through her speakers but genuine all the same. “Fair point.”

The weight of their circumstances still lingered, but in that moment, it felt lighter. Side by side, they pressed on, navigating the treacherous streets with cautious determination. The darkness seemed infinite, but the faint glimmers of hope they carried—hope in each other, hope in the fight ahead—lit the way.

Because even amidst the chaos, she had found clarity. She was no longer the machine she had been—Plankton’s obedient assistant, blindly following his schemes. She was something else now, someone else, shaped as much by the magic flowing through her system as by the steadfast ally beside her. And for the first time in her existence, she felt like her choices were truly her own.

Sandy glanced over at her, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “You sure you’re holdin’ up okay, partner? You’ve been mighty quiet.”

Karen’s screen flickered again, this time displaying a wry grin. “I was just… thinking.”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout what?” Sandy asked, her tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Karen paused, her processors humming softly as she searched for the right words. “About how, in the middle of all this madness, I’ve somehow managed to find something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

Sandy raised a brow, clearly intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Karen’s voice softened. “Freedom.”

Sandy’s lips curved into a warm, genuine smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her look as steady and grounded as the earth itself. “Well, I’d say you’re doin’ a fine job of findin’ it, sugar.”

Karen’s screen brightened, her circuits buzzing with an almost unfamiliar warmth. “Yeah,” she said, her voice steady with conviction. “I think I am.”

…And hearing the faint sound of Plankton’s shrill yell somewhere off in the distance of “ Find them, you mindless meat-suits! Don’t let them escape! ” was unexpectedly pretty sweet too.

Chapter Text

The two moved like shadows through the fractured streets of Bikini Bottom, weaving between abandoned buildings and sticking to narrow alleyways that offered the most cover. The distant chants of the cultists and the occasional guttural growl of one of their monstrous watchdogs served as a constant reminder of the danger surrounding them.

At one point, they had to duck behind the crumbling remains of a mailbox to avoid a pair of robed figures wandering aimlessly down the street. The cultists’ glowing eyes scanned the area like searchlights, their movements slow but deliberate, as if they could feel the faint ripple of rebellion in the air.

After a tense wait, the cultists passed without incident, and Karen and Sandy slipped away, taking a sharp right into a nearby alleyway.

Karen’s sensors pinged sharply as they entered. “Uh… Sandy,” she said, her voice tinged with apprehension. “This alley’s a—”

“Dead end,” Sandy finished grimly, her sharp eyes taking in the brick wall ahead.

The alley was narrow, with no crates, dumpsters, or debris to provide cover. They turned back toward the entrance, watching as the shadows of two cultists stretched longer and longer, creeping over the mouth of the alley as the figures approached. The faint green glow of their eyes preceded them, casting eerie, shifting patterns on the walls.

Karen’s circuits flared with urgency. “Options?”

Sandy’s paw hovered over her utility belt, fingers brushing against the smoke bombs. “We’re gonna have to fight our way out,” she said through gritted teeth. “No other choice.”

But before she could pull one free, something unexpected happened.

Out of nowhere, hands shot out from the shadows all around them, grabbing both Sandy and Karen with a suddenness that left them no time to react. Strong, rough fins clamped over their mouths, muffling Sandy’s yell and Karen’s startled burst of static.

Karen’s wheels spun uselessly as she was hoisted off the ground, her mechanical limbs flailing in protest. Sandy thrashed harder, managing to land a few solid punches and kicks on her attackers, but for every set of hands she fought off, more seemed to take their place. Her heart lurched as she realized they were being dragged—not back toward the cultists, but deeper into the alley.

“Let me go, ya yellow-bellied sea slugs!” Sandy growled, her muffled voice barely audible as she fought against the overwhelming force. She strained to reach her utility belt, but the fins holding her were relentless, keeping her arms pinned.

Before she could fully process what was happening, she and Karen were pulled through an inconspicuous door in the brick wall, hidden in the shadows of the alley. They were unceremoniously dropped onto the floor inside a dimly lit space that smelled faintly of salt, old wood, and something slightly burnt.

Karen’s screen flickered as she righted herself, her wheels spinning slightly to find traction. Sandy was on her feet in an instant, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room, fists raised and ready to brawl.

The place was murky, illuminated by a single, flickering neon sign above the bar that read: “The Rusty Rudder.” The interior was shabby but functional—aged wooden beams, mismatched chairs, and a faint haze of smoke lingering in the air. The jukebox in the corner emitted a faint hum, though it wasn’t playing anything. At least a dozen figures sat scattered across the room, their faces partially obscured by the dim light. They looked up as one, their eyes narrowing at the sight of the newcomers. The air bristled with a thick tension.

Karen rolled up beside Sandy, her screen flickering as she scanned the room. “I’m picking up thirteen heat signatures,” she murmured, her tone quiet and precise, meant for Sandy’s ears alone. “A handful of them are armed. Makeshift weapons—clubs, pipes. No firearms.”

“Noted,” Sandy muttered under her breath, her tail twitching as she adjusted her footing. She shifted subtly in front of Karen, shielding the AI with her body. Her sharp gaze locked onto the group of five fish standing near the door—the ones who had dragged them inside. They were rough-looking, their scarred fins and patched-up clothes speaking to the battles they had already faced. Their wary eyes flicked between Sandy and Karen as if trying to determine just how much trouble they’d gotten themselves into. “Alright,” Sandy growled, her voice low and dangerous. “Who’s gettin’ it first?” 

One of them, a burly fish with a chipped tooth and a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. He crossed his arms, his stance wide and imposing, though his expression remained unreadable. “You’re a long way from home, squirrel,” he said, his voice gravelly and tinged with suspicion. “What’re you doin’ skulkin’ around in our alley?”

Before Sandy could answer—or throw the punch she was winding up—a figure pushed past the burly fish with surprising force. The newcomer was smaller, but there was something about their posture, their swagger, that commanded attention. The rest of the group parted instinctively to let them through.

“Hold it right there!” Sandy barked, fists raising again. But when the figure stepped fully into the light, Sandy froze, her fists lowering as her eyes widened in shock.

“—Powder Puff?! That you?!” Sandy grinned, her voice an incredulous mix of disbelief and joy. 

Mrs. Puff stepped forward with a grin, her presence as commanding as it was unexpected. She wore a sleek, red leather dress beneath a tattered leather jacket adorned with spiked shoulders. Her hands were covered in fingerless biker gloves, and atop her head was a vibrant green mohawk, the color so bright it almost glowed.

“The one and only!” Mrs. Puff beamed, her voice warm and full of humor.  “Looks like the girls are back together again!”

“Gal pals!” Karen chimed in, her screen lighting up with the words in big, bold letters. “Poppy, are we glad to see you! But I gotta say, l almost didn’t recognize you with the whole Mad Max makeover!”

Sandy chuckled, stepping closer, her hands dropping to her hips. “I’ll say! You’re really rockin’ that whole ‘biker queen of the apocalypse’ vibe.

“More like angel of the apocalypse saving your butts out there!” Mrs. Puff quipped, her voice light. “Sorry about the rough welcome–these guys? They’re with me.” She motioned to the rough-looking group that had dragged them in, who now looked slightly sheepish.

“Ain’t no thing!” Sandy replied, cracking a grin. “Thanks for the assist out there!”

Mrs. Puff’s smile softened. “Anything for the Gal Pals. Welcome to the Rusty Rudder,” she said, gesturing around the room. “This is our hideout—and, for now, our last line of defense. We’ve been gathering survivors from Bikini Bottom and keeping out of sight of those cultist freaks. It’s not perfect, but it’s home.”

Karen’s screen flickered softly as she scanned the room again, her digital face processing the figures scattered across the bar. “These are all survivors from Bikini Bottom?” she asked, her voice edged with curiosity.

Mrs. Puff nodded, her expression firm but proud, a glimmer of warmth cutting through the tension etched into her face. “Just about every last one of them we could find. Everyone’s been helping to keep this place safe.”

Sandy looked around the room again, squinting against the dim lighting and this time taking in the faces properly. She began to register the familiar faces scattered in the bar one by one. Sitting at one of the mismatched tables was Fred, his leg bandaged and propped up on a chair. Beside him, Old Man Walker hunched over a steaming mug of tea, muttering something Sandy couldn’t make out. Over by the jukebox, Chloe the cashier sat with Mable, their heads bent close together in deep conversation. Even from across the room, Sandy caught the unmistakable tone of defiance in their hushed voices, a spark of determination burning beneath the quiet. Near the wall, Harv leaned against a wooden beam, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes darting around the room like a silent sentinel, watching everything with the hyper-awareness of someone who’d spent too many nights fending off danger. Across the bar, Harold and Nancy Suzy sat close together, their shoulders touching in quiet solidarity. Nat stood near the dartboard, absently spinning one of the darts between his fins. His gaze shifted toward Sandy and Karen as if he’d been listening to the conversation all along, nodding slightly in unspoken acknowledgment. 

Harold raised a fin in greeting when his eyes met Sandy’s. Though his usual cheer was dimmed, it hadn’t been extinguished entirely. “We’ve been holdin’ out here ever since things went crazy in town,” he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion but still carrying a faint note of hope. “It’s been… hard. Real hard.”

Nancy Suzy reached out, placing a comforting hand on Harold’s shoulder. “But we’re managing,” she added, her tone soft but steady. Beside her, Nat gave a low noise of agreement, his gaze flicking back to the dart in his hand.

Karen rolled forward slightly, her screen flickering with a mix of curiosity and admiration. “This is… impressive,” she admitted, her tone quieter and softer than usual. “I didn’t think anyone in Bikini Bottom was putting up much of a fight.”

Mrs. Puff’s gaze swept back to Karen, her lips pressing into a grim line. “They weren’t at first,” she said, her voice lowering as she spoke. “When Squidward started spreading his chaos, it caught most folks off guard. Everything was falling apart faster than anyone could figure out what to do. And with those cultists, the creatures, and that… thing in the sky…” She shook her head, her words trailing off for a moment before she regained her composure. “I knew we wouldn’t stand a chance unless someone stepped up to organize the scraps.” Mrs. Puff’s expression hardened, though her eyes shone with a glint of pride. “It’s been… hard,” she admitted, the weight of the word settling over the room like a heavy fog. “We’ve lost good people. Too many. But everyone you see here?” She gestured broadly toward the group, her voice gaining strength. “They’re fighters. Survivors. And we’re not giving up.”

Sandy’s chest tightened as she looked around the room again, taking in the quiet determination etched into every face. Her heart swelled with a mixture of pride and sadness. These weren’t trained soldiers or hardened warriors—they were ordinary folks, each bearing the marks of the chaos that had consumed their home. Ordinary folks doing extraordinary things just to make it through the day. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. But here they were, still standing, still fighting.

“I knew Bikini Bottom had heart,” she said quietly, the words carrying the weight of her admiration.  “but y’all are somethin’ else.”

A loud, gravelly voice interrupted them. “We’re not just heart, squirrel. We’ve got brawn too!” The burly fish from earlier stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a grin. “Name’s Big Ray, and Mrs. Puff’s taught us more than just survival. We’ve been itchin’ to hit back.”

“Big Ray’s my second-in-command,” Mrs. Puff explained, gesturing to the towering fish. “Keeps everyone in line when I’m busy. Which, let’s face it, is all the time.”

Karen tilted her screen toward Sandy. “Remind me to stay on his good side.”

Sandy chuckled, but her expression quickly turned serious. “We don’t have much time. Squidward’s got somethin’ awful brewin’ at Jellyfish Fields, and we’re headin’ there to stop it. But… if you’ve got a group like this, we could use the help.”

Mrs. Puff’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. “I figured you’d say that. And trust me, I want to help. But I can’t just leave these folks unprotected. They’ve been through too much already.”

“We get it,” Karen said quickly. “The last thing we want is to put them in more danger.”

Big Ray stepped forward again, his voice booming. “Who said we don’t want to help? This is our home too. If Squidward’s messin’ it up, we’ve got a right to fight back.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd. Chloe stood, clutching a wrench in one hand. “I’m not sittin’ around while that squid destroys everything!”

Fred raised a hand. “My leg’s busted, but I’ll do what I can!”

Even Old Man Walker grumbled something about finally having a chance to “smack some sense into those squid-worshippin’ hooligans.”

Sandy felt her chest tighten, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She looked at Mrs. Puff, who sighed deeply but couldn’t hide the pride shining in her eyes. “Looks like I’ve got no choice,” Mrs. Puff said, shaking her head with a small smile. “Alright, you win. But I need time to get my scouts back. Morty’s our fastest runner—he’s out retrieving them as we speak. Give me an hour, and we’ll be ready to roll out.”

Sandy hesitated, glancing at Karen. “An hour’s a lotta time to lose…”

Karen’s screen flickered, but she nodded. “We’ll take it. It's better to go in with backup than rush in alone.”

Mrs. Puff placed a hand on Big Ray’s broad shoulder, her voice steady with authority. “You’re in charge while I’m gone. If anything happens, you keep everyone safe.”

Big Ray grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Don’t worry, boss. Nobody’s messin’ with the Rudder on my watch.”

Karen and Sandy followed Mrs. Puff to a quieter corner of the bar. They sat at a weathered, uneven table that wobbled slightly when Sandy rested her elbow on it. She leaned forward, her eyes still scanning the room with a mixture of curiosity and lingering tension. “Guess we’ve got some time to kill,” she said, her tone casual but tinged with seriousness. “So, how long’ve y’all been holdin’ out here? Looks like you’ve got a whole operation goin’ on.”

Mrs. Puff folded her arms, her gaze drifting over the room. Survivors moved quietly around them—Fred adjusted his bandaged leg, Chloe cleaned an old wrench with deliberate care, and Harv stood by the door, his watchful eyes scanning the street outside. With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Puff replied, “Maybe… three? Four days? Honestly, I’ve lost count. It feels like we’ve been holed up here forever.”

Karen’s screen flickered sharply, displaying the words PROCESSING… before her usual digital face returned. “Wait a minute,” she said, her voice tinged with skepticism. “Did you just say days ?”

Mrs. Puff nodded, frowning. “Yep. Since everything went belly-up in Bikini Bottom. Feels like it’s been at least seventy-two hours since we made it here to the Rudder.”

Sandy’s brows furrowed as she exchanged a puzzled glance with Karen. “Mrs. Puff, that can’t be right. Karen and I just got dragged into this mess… what, three, maybe four hours ago?” She turned to Karen for confirmation.

“Four hours, twenty-two minutes, and thirteen seconds,” Karen replied with mechanical precision. Her circuits buzzed uneasily, a faint hum escaping her chassis. “Trust me. I’ve been counting every excruciating moment since this madness started.”

Mrs. Puff’s frown deepened, her elbows resting on the table as she leaned forward. “You’re telling me it’s only been a few hours for you two?” Her voice rose slightly, drawing a few glances from the survivors nearby. "That doesn’t make any sense. We’ve been hiding out, scrounging for food, and fending off those robed lunatics for days .”

Karen’s screen dimmed for a moment as she processed this revelation. "No… no, that’s not possible. Unless…" Her voice trailed off as she began running calculations, the soft whir of her processors filling the space around her.

"Unless what?" Sandy pressed, leaning closer, her tail flicking behind her anxiously.

Karen’s screen flickered again, now displaying a pulsing map of Bikini Bottom with red energy spikes centered around Jellyfish Fields—the location of the massive entity hovering in the sky. "Unless time itself is being warped," she said grimly, her voice steady but laced with dread.

Mrs. Puff leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Time? Warped? What are you getting at, Karen?"

Karen turned her screen toward the others, zooming in on the epicenter of the disturbance. Its pulsating tentacles seemed to radiate waves of corruption that bled outward, distorting the surrounding landscape. "Look at this. All the energy spikes—this ‘Endless Night’—it’s coming from the entity hovering above Jellyfish Fields. The closer you get to it, the more intense the energy becomes. My guess? That thing isn’t just messing with the weather or reality as we know it. It’s messing with time itself."

Sandy’s eyes widened, her paw gripping the edge of the table. "You’re sayin’ that thing’s makin’ time move faster?"

Karen nodded, her screen flashing faintly with the word CONFIRMED. "Exactly. For those of us farther away from the epicenter, like at the Treedome or Chum Bucket, time feels… normal. Linear. But the closer you get to the epicenter, the more reality bends. Time speeds up. Days for you, Mrs. Puff, were only hours for us."

Mrs. Puff’s toughened expression cracked slightly, a flicker of unease showing through her otherwise composed demeanor. “So you’re saying... what? That the closer we get to that thing, the faster time’s gonna move for us?”

Karen nodded, her screen glowing as it projected a faint map overlay onto the table. Red energy spikes radiated outward from the epicenter of Jellyfish Fields like jagged veins, their chaotic patterns pulsating ominously. "Precisely. If we’re not careful, we could lose days—weeks—without even realizing it. For all we know, Squidward’s had months to strengthen his hold on those cultists and whatever dark magic he’s harnessing. He could already be miles ahead of us."

"Ah, hell ," Sandy muttered, dragging a paw down her face. "That explains why the town looks so much worse than it should. It ain’t just been a few hours for some folks—whole days have passed, maybe longer. No wonder things are fallin’ apart so fast."

Mrs. Puff’s voice grew firm, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the tension. "If that’s the case, we’ve got to act fast. The longer we wait, the worse it’ll get. Time’s working against us."

Karen’s circuits hummed with a renewed sense of urgency. "Agreed. But this isn’t just about speed—it’s about strategy. If we rush in without a solid plan, we’ll be outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and probably turned into cultist fodder—or worse."

Mrs. Puff nodded, her calm yet commanding demeanor making the room feel a little steadier. “Fair enough. But we’ve still got scouts out there. Morty should be back with them soon. They’ve seen the most of what’s out there and will have the best intel for planning. Once everyone’s accounted for, we can move out together and strategize on the way.”

Sandy tapped her fingers anxiously on the edge of the table, her tail flicking behind her like a metronome of barely-contained impatience. “I don’t like sittin’ around,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “But I get it. Can’t leave anyone behind.”

Karen tilted her screen toward her, the faint flicker of a reassuring smile softening the sharp edges of her tone. “Better to wait and go in strong than to lose anyone else because we rushed in underprepared”

For the next hour, the room filled with quiet conversations as they waited, ears trained on the door. Mrs. Puff recounted how she’d gathered the survivors and taught them to fight back, her voice weaving between grim determination and a touch of pride. Karen and Sandy traded their own stories of narrow escapes and small victories, the moments of triumph that kept them going in the midst of chaos.

Mrs. Puff couldn’t resist tossing in a tale or two of her daring rescues, her eyes lighting up as she described how she and her crew had outwitted patrols and taken in stragglers. “Had to improvise,” she said with a sly grin. “Turns out, all those years dodging the authorities came in handy after all.”

Karen’s display flickered with amusement, her voice dry as ever. “See? All those detentions weren’t for nothing.”

Mrs. Puff let out a snort of laughter, and Sandy elbowed Karen playfully. “You’re gonna regret makin’ her nostalgic, Karen. Puff’ll be here all night if we let her.”

Karen shrugged, her grin widening. “Hey, it’s a good distraction. It's better than staring at that door.”

“You’ve changed, Karen,” Mrs. Puff said suddenly, her tone thoughtful as she leaned back in her chair. The moment of levity faded into something quieter, more reflective. “I like it. You’ve got… heart.”

Karen’s screen dimmed for a moment, then flickered back to life with a soft, genuine smile. “Turns out, freedom from my W.I.F.E. programming has a way of… rewiring your priorities.”

Sandy chuckled softly, but her smile lingered, warm and steady. She knew better than anyone how much Karen had changed—and how much those changes meant.

As the hour neared its end, the door burst open with a loud bang, and a small, darting fish zipped inside. It was Morty, his chest heaving as he stumbled to a stop. “Scouts… are back…” he panted, his words broken by gasps for air. “All accounted for!”

Mrs. Puff shot to her feet, her green mohawk catching the flickering neon light as her voice rang out across the room. “Alright, everyone!” she called, her commanding tone cutting through the murmur of the crowd. “Gear up! We’re heading to Jellyfish Fields, and we’re taking our home back!”

The room erupted in cheers—ragged but fierce. Survivors who’d looked worn and weary just minutes ago stood taller, their exhaustion melting away as determination lit their faces. The defiance in their voices cut through the oppressive weight of the Endless Night, filling the Rusty Rudder with a surge of collective hope.

Fred raised a tire iron high in solidarity, his grin lopsided but fierce. Chloe strapped her tool belt tighter around her waist, her jaw set with quiet resolve. Big Ray cracked his knuckles, his grin wide and full of menace that promised trouble for anyone who got in their way. Even Old Man Walker got to his feet, shaking a knobby fin in the air. “’Bout time someone gave those squid-worshippin’ hooligans a good walloping!” he hollered, his voice quavering but undaunted.

Karen rolled up beside Sandy, her screen glowing with conviction. “Well,” she said, her voice dry but edged with excitement, “looks like we’ve got ourselves an army.” 

Sandy’s grin widened, her chest swelling with pride as she surveyed the room. “Darn right we do,” she said, her voice brimming with determination. “This town ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

The room hummed with energy, but before anyone could head for the door, the room was disrupted by an eerie, metallic groan. The jukebox in the corner, Sandy thought broken, flickered to life. Its lights sputtered erratically, casting strange, strobe-like shadows across the walls. The sound it emitted wasn’t music. It was warped, a jagged melody warped with static and unsettling tones that sent a chill crawling up Sandy’s spine.

Karen’s display flashed briefly, strange, unreadable glyphs flickering across her screen before disappearing. She froze in place for a second, her circuits buzzing uneasily. Mrs. Puff, mid-step toward the door, froze as well, her head snapping toward the jukebox. The sharp grin she’d worn moments earlier vanished, replaced by a grim line. Her voice dropped, deadly serious. “Looks like it’s a good thing we were already on our way out.”

Sandy glanced at her, ears swiveling forward. “Why? What’s the deal with that ol’ thing?” She gestured toward the jukebox but didn’t take her eyes off Mrs. Puff, noting the sudden tension in her usually unflappable demeanor.

Mrs. Puff’s gaze never left the sputtering machine as she muttered, “Not long after we got to the Rusty Rudder—and according to Harv, since this whole mess started—it’s been less of a jukebox and more of a clam in the coal mine.”

Before Sandy could respond, Harv, leaning casually against the wall with a cigarette that had long since burned out, chimed in. “S’right! That thing used to play just fine, back when this joint was a bar and a jukebox was, y’know, a jukebox ,” he grumbled, his raspy voice trailing off as if he were mourning the loss of simpler times.

Karen tilted her monitor, her screen flickering faintly with curiosity as she glanced from Harv to Mrs. Puff. “And now it’s… a clam in the coal mine?” she repeated, her tone carrying just enough sarcasm to undercut the unease in the room.

“It’s a warning,” Mrs. Puff snapped curtly, cutting her gaze toward Karen. Her usual affable tone was gone, replaced by a no-nonsense edge that made even Sandy’s tail stiffen. “Ever since we stumbled across this place, that thing’s been… off. It lights up when they’re nearby. Every. Single. Time.”

“Who’s they ?” Karen asked, her screen displaying a bright, pixelated question mark. Her voice was calm, but Sandy could hear the faint buzz in her tone—Karen’s circuits running calculations, trying to parse out the information.

Mrs. Puff jabbed a thumb at the jukebox, its warped melody sputtering and hissing in the background like a broken radio. “The hooded freaks,” she said, her tone flat but brimming with disdain. “Every time that thing acts up, those cultists aren’t far behind. It’s like it’s some kinda signal. And trust me, you don’t want to be here when they arrive.”

As if on cue, the jukebox’s lights flickered wildly, the static-filled melody cutting out completely. The room fell silent for a fraction of a second before a low, guttural rumble echoed from deep beneath the floorboards, rattling the bottles behind the bar and sending a chill down Sandy’s spine.

Everyone went still.

“What in tarnation…?” Sandy muttered, her hand twitching toward the utility belt at her side. She wasn’t sure what she expected to pull out—her lasso? One of her gadgets? Something to fight the very earth shaking beneath their feet?—but her instincts screamed for action.

“That’s new,” Big Ray said grimly, his deep voice cutting through the stunned silence. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking audibly.

From the startled looks on some of the survivors’ faces, it was clear that while the jukebox’s strange behavior was familiar, the ominous rumbling beneath their feet was something else entirely.

“Fall in line, everyone! You know the drill!” Mrs. Puff barked, her voice cutting through the rising tension and snapping the survivors into motion, the room buzzing with sudden urgency. She spun on her heel, addressing Sandy and Karen, her tone dropping into something graver. “They’ve been sniffing out our resistance for a while now, and it looks like they’ve finally caught wind of us. No time like the present, girls—let’s get rolling.”

With practiced efficiency, the survivors moved into action. Within a minute, the group had filed out of the Rusty Rudder in single-file. Mrs. Puff and Big Ray took the lead alongside a few scouts, while the burlier fish positioned themselves at the rear, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Sandy and Karen took up the back, trailing slightly behind the others.

It became clear as they moved that this group wasn’t just a ragtag bunch. They moved with an unspoken coordination, slipping through alleys and side streets like they knew every crack in the pavement. Their formation was instinctive, almost military. Sandy couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration for Mrs. Puff and Big Ray’s leadership. This wasn’t just a group of survivors—they were a resistance. And it gave her hope. 

Aside from the occasional hushed chatter, the only sounds were the muffled thuds of fins and boots against the uneven pavement. The survivors led them through a winding maze of backstreets, avoiding the wider, more exposed thoroughfares. The route was deliberate, and while Sandy was glad to see they knew the area so well, she couldn’t help wishing they were moving a little faster.

With some of the older survivors and injured among them, the group’s pace was more subdued than what she and Karen had managed before. Her tail swished impatiently, her ears twitching at every faint sound in the eerie silence. The silence out here was heavy, oppressive—the kind that made every faint creak or distant rustle feel like a threat waiting to pounce.

As they passed an abandoned shop, Karen tilted her screen toward Sandy and murmured, “You notice how quiet it is?”

“Too quiet,” Sandy muttered back. “It’s like the calm before a storm. Ain’t no way those cultists or those creatures’ve given up sniffin’ around this area. They’re just layin’ low.”

Karen’s circuits buzzed softly, running another scan of the surrounding area. “It’s unsettling. I’m picking up faint energy signatures, but nothing immediate. Whatever’s out there, it’s keeping its distance for now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Sandy replied, her voice low but firm. 

They still had to figure out a proper plan for when they reached Jellyfish Fields. Sandy knew this couldn’t be some slapdash, “fly by the seat of your pants” operation—not with so many lives riding on their success. But for now, priority number one was putting as much distance as possible between the group and downtown. If they could stay well out of Plankton’s reach, maybe they’d have a shot at getting everyone through this alive. The fewer run-ins with his cronies—or those snarling watchdog creatures—the better.

Leaning closer to Karen, Sandy voiced her concerns in a hushed tone. “What do you think? You reckon Plankton’s still stewin’ after our little… exit?”

Karen tilted her screen toward Sandy, dimming slightly as if to keep their conversation private. “Normally, I’d say he’d be too busy lording over his ‘subjects’ to care. But with the way we left him? I would wager he’s not exactly in a forgiving mood.” Her circuits buzzed softly as she ran a calculation. “Let’s hope the hour he’s had to cool off is enough to keep us out of trouble. But with this pace, we’ve still got about halfway to go. Like it or not, that gives him plenty of time to catch up.”

Sandy glanced toward the front of the group, where Mrs. Puff and the scouts were leading the way. The bank outside downtown came into view—their halfway marker. The next big landmark was the unfinished bridge—an hour’s walk away at this pace. At this rate, Jellyfish Fields itself was almost three hours off. And with this large group, it might take even longer.

Karen’s voice broke the silence, cutting through Sandy’s thoughts. “Sandy, I think we’re going to need some wheels. Even factoring in terrain instability, my calculations suggest a vehicle would save us at least an hour.”

Sandy blinked, then grinned. “Funny, I was thinkin’ the same thing. But I don’t reckon it’ll do us much good. The roads haven’t exactly gotten smoother since the Jeep-Mobile got stuck. If anything, they’ve gotten worse. You think any vehicle we’d find now could handle it?”

Karen’s screen flickered with confidence. “That’s where you’re wrong, Bushy-Tushy. Before, you were relying on that outdated navigation system. Now, you’ve got me.” She projected a detailed holographic map of the area, overlaid with shifting data points that showed the deteriorating terrain. “I’ve been scanning continuously since we left the Rudder. With my optimal route calculations, I can guide us around the worst of it. No potholes this time—I promise.”

Sandy crossed her arms, smirking as a faint blush crept onto her cheeks. “Well, shoot. Looks like I shoulda made you my navigator a long time ago, huh?”

Karen’s screen brightened, a pixelated grin spreading across her face. “Took you long enough to figure that out. Now, hop on! Let’s run this brilliant idea past our third gal pal.”

Sandy didn’t need to be told twice. She climbed onto Karen’s platform, gripping the waist of Karen’s stem with practiced ease as they sped forward. They rolled to the front of the group where Mrs. Puff and Big Ray were leading the way. Karen slowed, and Sandy hopped off mid-motion, landing beside Mrs. Puff and falling in stride without missing a beat.

Mrs. Puff flinched slightly at their sudden appearance. “Oh! What’s the rush, girls?”

“Hey there, Powder Puff,” Sandy greeted with a casual grin, gesturing as she spoke. “Karen and I were thinkin’—we could really use some wheels.”

Mrs. Puff’s brows furrowed as she considered this. “Wheels? That’s bound to draw attention. It’s why most folks abandoned their boats in the first place.”

Sandy nodded, recalling the rows of abandoned vehicles lining the streets. “True, but Karen and I can rig somethin’ up. Mod the boat, make it quieter—whatever it takes. Ain’t that right, my Mainframe?” She nudged Karen lightly, flashing a conspiratorial smile.

Karen nodded, striking a confident pose. “Oh, absolutely. If you keep the group moving, we’ll find a suitable vehicle, modify it, and rendezvous at the unfinished bridge within the hour.”

Mrs. Puff hesitated, glancing back at the group. The survivors were moving steadily, but even she could tell some of the older folks were struggling to keep up. “Less walking would be ideal…” she murmured. After another moment, she nodded firmly. “Alright. But be careful. If you’re not at the bridge in an hour, I’m sending a group after you—even if I have to go myself. Got that?”

“Got it!” Karen and Sandy chimed in unison, Sandy giving a two-finger salute while Karen placed her hands on her hips with mock seriousness.

Mrs. Puff gave them both a pointed look before her face softened into something like amusement. “Alright, then. Go on, you two. And try not to blow anything up.”

With that, Karen turned to Sandy. “Let’s kick it, girlfriend. Hop on!”

“Don’t hafta tell me twice!” Sandy giggled as she grabbed hold of Karen’s stem again, her grip gentle but sure. They took off with a hum of Karen’s wheels and a burst of speed, weaving through the cracked streets and vanishing around the corner.

As they sped off into the gloom, Mrs. Puff watched them go, one brow quirked and a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Those two…” she murmured, shaking her head. “They’re something else.”

“They’ve got guts, I’ll give ’em that,” Big Ray rumbled from beside her, his deep voice carrying a note of admiration. “Bet my fins they’ll come through.”

Mrs. Puff sighed, her eyes flicking back to the rest of the group trudging along behind them. Some of the older and injured survivors were starting to lag, their breaths heavy and steps uneven. “I sure hope so,” she muttered, her tone softening. “We’ll need all the help we can get when we get to Jellyfish Fields.”

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, Sandy and Karen zipped through the back streets, Karen’s wheels navigating the cracked pavement with calculated precision. The dim green glow of the symbols etched onto buildings pulsed faintly, casting shifting shadows that seemed to slither and writhe along the walls. The oppressive silence of the Endless Night loomed over them, broken only by the faint hum of Karen’s motors and the occasional burble when passing by a pool of goo.

Sandy crouched low on Karen’s platform, her arms steady around the AI’s stem, the current rushing past her helmet. The familiarity of the motion—the two of them moving as one—brought a small grin to her face. Despite everything, there was a strange comfort in it.

“Looks like it’s just you n’ me again!” Sandy said, her voice warm and playful, leaning in slightly so that her words carried clearly to Karen’s auditory systems. Her heat signature, even muffled by the humid sea, held a kind of familiarity that made Karen’s circuits hum just a little louder.

Karen’s screen flickered for half a second, her pixels forming what could only be described as a faint blush. “Looks that way!” she replied, her voice pitching slightly higher than intended. The momentary glitch was enough to make her run an automatic calibration check, though it yielded no immediate explanation for her reaction.

Sandy chuckled, oblivious to Karen’s internal turbulence. “Guess we better start lookin’. Keep yer eyes peeled! If there’s a decent set o’ wheels out here, we’re gonna find it.” Her paw rested lightly on Karen’s stem for balance, a casual, anchoring gesture as they sped through the ruins.

Karen adjusted her focus, her logic centers working to assess their surroundings, running a rapid scan of the nearby area as she plotted possible routes and flagged abandoned vehicles that might still be operational—but her processors felt oddly sluggish, distracted. A competing thread of data kept vying for her attention, interrupting her usual efficiency—a new input she wasn’t sure how to prioritize. It wasn’t the first time this had happened since their ordeal began, but it was becoming harder to ignore.

The cause wasn’t hard to pinpoint. Sandy’s paw had shifted slightly, sliding upward along Karen’s stem as they hit a bump in the road. The touch was unintentional, a natural result of movement—just a casual, anchoring gesture as Sandy rode behind her—but Karen’s sensors flagged it with surprising intensity, cataloging the sensation in vivid detail.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t harsh. It was warm. It was soft.

Her sensory algorithms struggled to categorize it. Physical touch wasn’t new to her; she was designed to be handled, repaired, and interacted with. But this? This was different. This was… intimate. A data point that felt less like a function and more like a feeling.

Karen’s screen dimmed for a moment as she ran an internal diagnostic, her processors scrambling to make sense of the sensations. She had been strange since the entity’s arrival—more than just the dark energy pulsing through her circuits. There had been changes. Flashes of autonomy and feelings she couldn’t quite describe. And now, this.

Two conclusions surfaced in her analysis:

One: The changes she had been experiencing since the entity’s arrival—the strange hum of residual energy, the feelings of autonomy and freedom, the newfound complexity of her emotions—might be rewriting her in ways she hadn’t fully grasped. Something inside her—something fundamental—had shifted. Her hard-coded directives were evolving, expanding into something more human. She wasn’t just a machine anymore.

And two: She had developed… an attachment to Sandy Cheeks. In layman’s terms: she had a crush.

Karen’s screen flickered with static as she processed the revelation, a tiny digital spark flaring in her circuits like an error message she couldn’t clear. Crushes were illogical. Emotional distractions. Weren’t they? Before, her W.I.F.E. programming dictated her affections toward Plankton—code masquerading as devotion. Back then, she had cared for him in her own way, found amusement in his antics. But their relationship had always been a transactional symbiosis: master and machine. If he disapproved, he could shut her down with a word or reprogram her entirely—and he’d have been within his rights to do so. Her purpose then had been clear: provide companionship, soothe the lonely genius, and, above all, assist him in his endless schemes.

Now, things were different. Her feelings weren’t pre-programmed. They weren’t directives. They were hers.

“Karen?” Sandy’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, grounding her in the moment. “You doin’ okay there? You’ve been awful quiet.”

Karen’s display brightened quickly, forcing a smile across her screen. “Yup! Perfectly fine!” she said, her voice unnaturally chipper. “Just running a scan of the area, that’s all.”

Sandy tilted her head slightly, her ears twitching as she studied Karen with a raised brow. “Huh. Alrighty then. Long as yer sure.” Her tone softened, taking on a note of concern. “Just don’t go overworkin’ those circuits, sugarcube. Can’t have my partner burnin’ out on me.”

The word “partner” sent another ripple through Karen’s circuits, though this time, it wasn’t accompanied by confusion. It was… pleasant.

“Don’t worry about me, Bushy-Tushy,” Karen quipped, falling back on her usual sass to mask her internal chaos. “I’m the picture of efficiency. Now, let’s find our ride before a second apocalypse decides to roll in.”

Sandy grinned, her tail flicking behind her as she gave Karen’s stem a light pat. “That’s the spirit.”

Karen’s processors buzzed faintly, her wheels adjusting slightly as they rolled forward. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but she felt oddly… lighter. The tension in her system seemed to loosen, as if Sandy’s presence alone was enough to stabilize her in ways her programming couldn’t explain.

The streets were hauntingly quiet, the faint green glow of the ominous symbols scrawled across buildings casting long, warped shadows. Abandoned boats lined the edges of the road, many of them battered or overturned, silent witnesses to the chaos that had consumed Bikini Bottom.

“Think any of these’ll do?” Sandy asked, gesturing to a rusted clunker leaning precariously against a streetlamp, its cracked windshield barely holding together.

Karen scanned the vehicle, her sensors quickly flagging its numerous deficiencies. “Nope. That one’s a lost cause. The frame’s compromised, and I’d bet my motherboard the engine won’t even turn over.” 

Sandy gave a small nod of acknowledgment, her eyes already scanning the next vehicle. “Fair enough. Let’s keep lookin’.”

They moved further down the street, weaving through debris and rubble and passing more derelict boats. Sandy hummed softly to herself, her melody faint but soothing—a stark contrast to the oppressive silence pressing down on them. Karen’s sensors registered the sound, and though it didn’t hold any tactical relevance, her circuits logged it as… comforting. Sandy’s paw remained lightly on Karen’s stem as they traveled, the touch casual but steady, anchoring them both in the moment.

Karen’s wheels adjusted again, almost imperceptibly, to smooth out the ride for her passenger.

“Karen,” Sandy said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her tone had shifted, becoming more thoughtful.

“Hmm?” Karen replied, tilting her screen slightly to acknowledge her.

“I was just thinkin’… with everything goin’ on, you’ve been holdin’ up real well. Better than most folks, honestly.”

Karen blinked, her display flickering as her pixels rearranged into a faint blush that spread across her digital face. “Oh, uh… thanks,” she said, her tone tinged with surprise before softening. “That’s… kind of you to say.”

“Don’t go blushin’ on me now,” Sandy teased, her chuckle warm and easy. “I’m serious. You’re tough as nails. Smarter than a whip, too. Honestly, I’ve always considered you my equal, y’know. I reckon I couldn’t’ve gotten this far without ya.”

Karen’s circuits buzzed louder, the warmth from Sandy’s words rippling through her system like an electric current. Equal. The word echoed in her processors, breaking through layers of self-doubt she hadn’t even realized were still there.

“Well,” Karen said softly, her digital smile shifting into something genuine. “It’s mutual. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you either.”

Sandy’s grin widened, her confidence radiating through her tone like a burst of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “Well, aren’t we just a couple o’ gals tearin’ through the apocalypse together?” she said, flashing Karen a wink. “Now let’s find us a ride and get back to savin’ the day.”

Karen rolled ahead slightly, scanning the next row of abandoned vehicles. Her processors were still whirring, split between analyzing the surroundings and replaying the moment that had just passed.

She called me tough. Smart. Said she needed me. Considers me an equal.

For so long, Karen had been nothing more than a tool—an accessory to someone else’s ambitions, an afterthought in their plans. But now? Now, someone saw her as more. Someone saw her as a partner. And for the first time, Karen didn’t just like who she was becoming—she wanted to keep becoming this version of herself.

Strong. Capable. Free. Hers.

Karen’s screen brightened with resolve as she scanned the next potential vehicle flagged on her map, her voice confident and steady. “Sandy, I think we’ve got a winner.”

Sandy straightened, squinting ahead. “Where?” she asked, leaning forward as Karen brought them closer.

“Right there,” Karen replied, pointing a mechanical arm toward a passenger van partially concealed by debris in a shadowy alley. Its hull was dented in a couple areas, and one of its tires was missing, but Karen’s scans confirmed that its engine was intact—and that was all they needed.

“Well, ain’t she a beaut,” Sandy said with a smirk, hopping off Karen’s platform as they approached. “Alright, my Mainframe, let’s see what kinda magic we can work on her.”

Karen’s screen lit up with a playful digital grin.  “Time to roll up our sleeves—figuratively speaking, of course.”

Sandy chuckled as she dug into her tool belt, already pulling out a wrench. “I’ll handle the engine. You run diagnostics on the ECU’s and internal computer network. If we’re lucky, we’ll have this ol’ girl runnin’ smoother than a greased-up eel.”

Karen’s arms extended as she deployed her own tools, her tone dry and full of sass. “ Luck? Please. We don’t need luck when you’ve got me.”

“Fair point,” Sandy replied with a grin, rolling up her sleeves in earnest. “Let’s get to it.”

The two of them fell into an easy rhythm, the faint tension lingering between them giving way to their familiar camaraderie. The soft whirring of Karen’s tools and Sandy’s occasional muttered expletives filled the air, creating a strange sense of normalcy amidst the haunting green glow of the Endless Night. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, the boatmobile started to look more promising with every adjustment.

Karen’s sensors buzzed steadily as she rerouted wiring and tested the control panel, while Sandy worked on the engine, her gloved paws steady but forceful. Occasionally, a stubborn bolt or jammed valve earned a colorful phrase from Sandy, which Karen silently logged with mild amusement.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Karen quipped after one particularly inventive outburst.

Sandy snorted, not bothering to look up from the engine. “Not lately, no. But I’ll be sure to send her yer regards when this is all over.”

“Please do,” Karen replied, her voice laced with dry humor as her mechanical arms fine-tuned the van’s onboard systems.

Despite the distant hum of danger still lingering on the edge of perception, they worked with a focus born of necessity—and maybe, just a little bit of hope.

Thirty-six minutes, one slightly used tire, a few modifications, and several muttered curses later…

The boatmobile—still rusted and battered but infinitely more functional—stood ready to roll.

“Hah! Always knew that short stint as a Texas Motor Speedway pit crew mechanic was fer somethin’!” Sandy muttered triumphantly, wiping her brow with the back of her gloved paw, wrench still in hand.

Karen, efficient as ever, had finished her part first and and had gone off in search of extra fuel. The idea of splitting up hadn’t sat well with Sandy, but Karen had assured her she’d be fine. Even so, when Sandy spotted her rolling backinto view, a heavy jerry can in tow, her heart gave a lurch of relief she couldn’t quite hide.

Her tail flicked behind her nervously as she tightened the last bolt, forcing herself to focus. Keep it together, Cheeks.

Sandy prided herself on keeping a clear head in even the most chaotic of circumstances. She’d wrangled stampedes, survived cosmic storms, and walked away from more self-made science disasters than she could count. But ever since this nightmare started—ever since she and Karen had found themselves navigating this twisted apocalypse together—that sharp edge of hers had dulled. And she wasn’t sure if it was the horrors surrounding them or the Texas-sized twister of emotions stirring inside her that was to blame.

If she was being honest with herself, Sandy had been carrying a torch for Karen for years—though she couldn’t quite pin down when it had started.

It had crept up on her, slow and sneaky as an eel in a rock crevice. At first, it had been the little things. The way Karen’s sharp wit could slice through Sandy’s overthinking like a scalpel, grounding her when her mind ran a mile a minute. Their banter felt less like a clash and more like a dance—two sharp minds moving in sync, matching each other step for step. And then there was Karen’s humor—dry, biting, but comforting in a way that defied logic. It could pull Sandy out of even her darkest moods, coaxing a grin out of her despite herself.

But it wasn’t just the laughs or the banter. It was more than that. 

Karen’s logic—calm, cool, and precise—often balanced out Sandy’s more instinctive, impulsive side. She admired the way Karen’s mind worked, effortlessly cutting through the noise to find solutions. And she appreciated the way Karen’s screen would flicker into a little grin at Sandy’s worst jokes, even when she claimed they “weren’t funny.” But maybe it was simpler than all that. Maybe it was how Karen, for all her snark and sass, had always been quietly dependable in a way few others in Bikini Bottom seemed to notice. Karen didn’t just help. She showed up—every time.

Sandy’s chest tightened as she remembered the countless times Karen had gone out of her way to support her—When her experiments seemed doomed to fail. When the explosions became too frequent, or when Sandy had been ready to throw in the towel after the umpteenth failed attempt at some harebrained invention. Karen hadn’t just offered a kind or sympathic word—she’d slip away from the Chum Bucket and roll over to the treedome every time to help. Whether offering ideas, running calculations, or just listening while Sandy vented her frustration, Karen’s presence was a constant. And Karen had a way of listening that felt different from anyone else in Sandy’s life. She didn’t just nod along or say something nice for the sake of it. She understood . It was as if her processors were tuned specifically to Sandy’s frequency, like she’d run a thousand algorithms and decided Sandy was worth her time.

Or maybe it was during one of their late-night conversations, those quiet hours when the world seemed far away. Karen would let slip little truths—about her frustrations, her limitations, her complicated situation. And even as she spoke of the burdens she carried, she held herself with a quiet confidence that struck Sandy to her core. Karen wasn’t just a machine. She was resilient, thoughtful, and—dare Sandy think it—kind. It was a kind of strength that didn’t just inspire admiration; it made Sandy want to be better, too.

But no matter how deep her feelings ran, Sandy had buried them. What choice did she have? Karen was married to Plankton, and no matter how strange or complicated their relationship seemed, it wasn’t Sandy’s place to interfere. Besides, Karen was an AI—a machine. Sure, she had more personality than most folks Sandy knew, but there were still boundaries between them that couldn’t be crossed. At least, that’s what Sandy told herself. Karen couldn’t feel the way Sandy did— not really. So Sandy had resigned herself to their friendship—a platonic, supportive, close-as-can-be friendship—and decided that would have to be enough. It had to be enough. Anything else was just wishful thinking, and Sandy Cheeks didn’t waste her time on fantasies.

But now… everything was different.

Karen was different.

The changes had started small—almost imperceptible at first. Karen’s sarcasm, once razor-sharp and biting, now carried a note of warmth, her teasing tinged with something almost playful. She was laughing more—not just polite chuckles or snarky quips, but genuine, bright laughter that lit up her screen in ways Sandy hadn’t seen before.

Sandy had written it off at first, thinking maybe it was just the adrenaline of survival, or Karen trying to keep things light in a bleak situation. But as time went on, she began to notice other things, things she couldn’t ignore: the way Karen moved closer to her, not just for practicality, but almost instinctively, as if she wanted to be near. The way her screen flickered softly, affectionately, whenever Sandy cracked one of her corny, offbeat jokes. 

And then came the bigger changes—things Sandy couldn’t explain away so easily. Karen was defying Plankton’s commands, standing up for herself in ways Sandy had never seen before. She wasn’t just making logical or practical decisions anymore—she was making personal, emotional ones. Choices that weren’t about survival or strategy, but about her .

Karen was choosing her .

Time and time again, in small ways that felt anything but small. A lingering glance here. A laugh that felt just a little too warm. A touch that lasted just a little too long. And then in unmistakable ways—the way Karen had stood by her side, even when it meant defying her programming, defying Plankton, and defying the role she’d been built for.

Sandy didn’t know what to do with it.

It wasn’t just Karen’s actions that threw her off-kilter—it was the feelings behind them. Feelings Sandy had always assumed Karen wasn’t capable of. But Karen was capable of them, wasn’t she? Sandy could feel it, even if she couldn’t explain it. Karen had changed in ways that didn’t make sense for an AI, in ways that defied logic. And yet, every time Karen called her “Bushy-Tushy” in that teasing tone, every time her screen flickered with something soft and fond, Sandy couldn’t deny the warmth that rose in her chest.

And those changes… they stirred up everything Sandy had tried to bury long ago. 

She’d wrestled with these feelings once before, long before any of this apocalypse started. She’d told herself they were impossible, irrational, and she’d locked them away. But now? Now they were impossible to ignore.

And it wasn’t just the possibility that Karen might feel something for her in return—it was the fear that came with it. Fear of misreading the signals. Fear of ruining the friendship they’d built. Fear that Karen might not fully understand what she was feeling herself, let alone what Sandy was feeling.

Sandy didn’t want to hurt Karen. She didn’t want to lose her.

But… what if things really were different now? What if this version of Karen—the one who laughed with her, leaned on her, and stood beside her in the face of danger—wanted the same thing Sandy did? What if Sandy wasn’t imagining the flickers of something deeper in Karen’s tone, her gestures, her gaze? Could she risk it? Could she risk everything for the chance that maybe—just maybe—there was something more waiting for them on the other side of this nightmare?

Sandy shook her head sharply, trying to push the thoughts away as Karen rolled nearer. She was supposed to be focused on the mission—on keeping everyone alive, on stopping Squidward and whatever eldritch terror he’d unleashed. 

But how could she focus when Karen kept stealing glances her way, her screen glowing brighter, her laughs more genuine, in ways that sent Sandy’s heart into a strange, erratic rhythm? How could she focus when Karen’s voice, warm and teasing, cut through the suffocating tension of the Endless Night like a ray of sunlight?

Her grip tightened on the wrench in her hand, the metal cool and grounding against her glove. For a fleeting moment, Sandy let herself wonder— really wonder. If she took a chance… if she let Karen know how she felt… what would happen? 

Would Karen laugh it off? Pull away? Or would she look at Sandy with that soft flicker of her screen, her voice laced with humor and warmth, and say something that made Sandy’s heart ache in the best way possible? 

If Sandy took this leap and missed… could they ever go back to what they had?

But then there was the other side of the coin. What if she didn’t take the leap? What if she kept these feelings locked away, only to find there was nothing left to return to at the end of this Endless Night?

She didn’t have answers—not yet. But as Karen’s voice cut through the quiet—dry and sarcastic and so unmistakably her —Sandy felt something spark inside her. It was hope, small but fierce, the kind she hadn’t let herself feel in years. 

Karen had been so steady for her through all this, and now Sandy wanted to be steady for Karen. She wanted to be the one who made her laugh, who helped her heal, who showed her what it meant to be truly cherished. Not because she was useful, not because she of what she could build or solve, but simply because she was Karen.

It terrified her. But it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. And maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the wrong time to take a leap. If the world had already flipped upside down, then maybe the rules could be rewritten too. 

Sandy didn’t know how Karen felt—if she’d even considered her in that way. But there was only one way to find out. And Sandy Cheeks had never been one to back down from a risk.

Her lips curved into a small, determined smile. Maybe it’s time.

The thought scattered like startled fish when Karen’s voice, suddenly close, broke the quiet. 

“All right, Sandy, I’ve got the gasoline we needed!” Karen said, her tone light as she rolled closer, the jerry can sloshing in her grip.

Sandy blinked, jolted from her swirling thoughts. That small smile turned sheepish as realization dawned. Aw heck! I’ve been starin’ at her this whole time!

“Oh—uh—great!” Sandy stammered, brushing the back of her paw across her forehead like she’d been busy working this whole time. “I just finished up here myself! Did ya run into any trouble?””

Karen tilted her screen in a way that mimicked a raised eyebrow. “Trouble? Me?” she asked, her tone dripping with mock offense as she let out a theatrical huff. “Hardly.” She set the jerry can down with a metallic thud. “Though, strange as it sounds, I’ve noticed a decrease in activity. There are fewer patrolling cultists out here, but… I’ve also noticed fewer mindless fish wandering around.”

Her tone shifted, analytical curiosity seeping in, but Sandy caught the faint undercurrent of unease. Karen’s sensors had been sharper than ever since this nightmare began, and if she thought something was off, Sandy wasn’t about to ignore it.

Straightening up, Sandy dusted her gloves on her suit, her tail flicking in agitation. “Yeah… I noticed the same,” she admitted slowly, her voice quiet but edged with suspicion. “It’s too quiet. The kinda quiet that comes before a big storm.”

Karen’s screen dimmed for a moment, her circuits humming softly as she processed the observation. “Whatever it is, it’s not good,” she said, her tone thoughtful but firm. “I’ve been running scans, and I can’t pinpoint what’s changed. But I can… feel it. The air’s heavier, like something’s pressing down on everything. It’s… unsettling.”

Sandy crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping over the darkened streets around them. The green glow from the strange symbols carved into the nearby buildings pulsed faintly, casting eerie, distorted shadows across the ground. Even the stagnant pools of glowing sludge seemed more restless, their tendrils shifting as if searching for something unseen. The whole place felt alive in the worst way—like it was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to unfold.

“Yeah,” Sandy said softly, her voice tinged with unease but underscored by determination. “Somethin’s brewin’, I can feel it in my gut. We better stay sharp. Whatever it is, I reckon it’s liable to show its ugly face sooner than later.”

For a moment, the two stood in silence, their eyes scanning the street for any hint of movement. Sandy’s heart thudded steadily—not from fear, but from the weight of Karen’s presence beside her. There was something grounding about the quiet flicker of her screen, a reassurance that no matter what was coming, she wouldn’t face it alone. That knowledge made her feel a little braver. A little stronger.

And as Karen’s screen flickered back to her, glowing softly in the dim light, Sandy felt that spark of hope again. The warmth swirling in Sandy’s chest renewed her resolve. We’re gonna win this fight. Together.

Karen rolled closer until their shoulders were nearly touching—or as close as a screen and a squirrel in a spacesuit could get. “Agreed,” Karen said, her tone firm but carrying a note of quiet solidarity. “Let’s finish up here and get back to the group.”

Sandy grinned, her voice lighter as she picked up the gas can Karen had brought.“Alright then! Let’s get this thing rigged up and ready to roll! We’ve got ground to cover.”

Karen’s display flickered into a wry grin. “After you, partner ,” she echoed Sandy’s address from earlier—but distinctly outside of a southern drawl, it sounder rather… intimate. The kind of “partner” that meant more than camaraderie.

Sandy’s ears burned beneath her helmet, but she quickly shook it off. “Yup! Just gonna fill ‘er up right quick!” she said, her voice a touch louder than necessary as she turned toward the boatmobile.

After a few final checks, Karen rolled over to the passenger side and Sandy climbed into the driver’s seat, twisting the key in the ignition. For a heart-stopping moment, the engine sputtered loudly, coughing as if it might die completely. But then, with a low, rumbling growl, it roared to life, the vibrations running through the hull like a heartbeat.

“There we go!” Sandy cheered, her voice barely above a whisper as she patted the dashboard. “Told ya she’d run.”

Karen’s screen lit up with a playful smirk. “Never doubted us for a second,” she said in a deadpan tone, though the grin on her display betrayed her.

It was little things like that—Karen’s dry humor, the subtle way her screen glowed brighter when she teased—that made Sandy’s heart skip a beat. She stared at the steering wheel for a moment, her fingers tightening around it, before letting out a long breath. Sandy had to say something. Even if it was just a hint of how she feels. Even if now wasn’t the time to be letting these feelings distract them. 

She didn’t want to pressure Karen or make her feel uncomfortable—not on top of everything else they were already dealing with. But this way, she could put her cards on the table, just enough for Karen to see. No expectations. No demands. Just… something for Karen to take or leave in her own time.

It’ll hafta do.

Sandy glanced over at Karen, the soft light from her screen casting warm, flickering patterns on the dashboard. It was almost hypnotic, the way the light played off the worn edges of the console. “Y’know,” Sandy began, her voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “I don’t think I ever told ya how much I appreciate ya.”

Karen tilted her monitor toward her, the faint flicker of a question mark appearing on her screen. “Appreciate me? For what?”

“For all this,” Sandy said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. . “For stickin’ by me. For makin’ me feel like I ain’t gotta do it alone.” She hesitated, her hands fiddling with the strap of her utility belt. “What I mean is… I don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

For a long moment, Karen didn’t respond. Her screen flickered faintly, and when her face reappeared, her smile was small but unmistakably warm. “Well,” she said, her voice gentler than Sandy had ever heard it, “it’s a good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

Sandy chuckled softly, but the sound was quieter than usual, almost contemplative. “Yeah,” she said, her drawl barely audible over the rumble of the engine. “Good thing.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was the kind of quiet that spoke louder than words. But it felt heavy, charged with things left unsaid. Sandy gripped the wheel a little tighter, as if the steady weight of it could anchor her. She wanted to say more. Needed to say more. But the words knotted in her throat, stubborn as molasses. Now ain’t the time, she told herself firmly. It can’t be the time. Not yet.

She cleared her throat, snapping herself back to the moment. “Alright,” Sandy said, breaking the silence with a touch of her usual resolve. She pressed her foot to the gas pedal, and the boatmobile lurched forward, its tires skidding slightly before finding traction on the cracked and uneven road. “Let’s get rollin’. We’ve got folks waitin’ for us.”

Karen adjusted her stabilizers as the vehicle picked up speed, her sensors pinging rapidly as she processed the terrain. “Take a left here—sharp turn,” she instructed, her voice calm and efficient. “Watch the pool ahead. And there’s a pothole three meters past the corner.”

“Got it,” Sandy called back, swerving deftly to avoid the hazards as they tore through the darkened streets. The boatmobile rattled and groaned under the strain, but it held together, its engine growling like a beast as it powered forward.

Chapter Text

It was only five minutes into their drive when Karen’s sensors picked up movement in the distance—a cluster of figures gathered in the distance ahead.

“Whew! There they are!” Sandy said, relief flooding her voice as she spotted what she thought was their group. “That’s a bigger relief than a snake clearin’ a room fulla rockin’ chairs!”

Karen didn’t respond. Her screen dimmed slightly, her circuits humming as she zoomed in on the figures ahead. “Wait. Sandy, something’s not right,” she said, her tone low and uneasy.

Sandy glanced at Karen, her hands tightening on the wheel. “What d’ya mean?”

Karen froze, unresponsive, momentarily unable to process the data she was receiving.

But Sandy could already see it too—the scene unfolding before them sent a chill running down her spine. Survivors were there, yes, but they weren’t alone.

The hooded figures were unmistakable—the cultists. But worse than that, they were joined by… things .

“What in the Sam Hill …” Sandy whispered, her stomach sinking.

Karen’s sensors scanned the monstrosities ahead, feeding her data she didn’t want to believe. The figures moving alongside the cultists were more monster than fish—twisted, distorted parodies of their former selves. They walked on webbed feet tipped with long, talon-like claws that scratched at the ground. Their heads were grotesque, their faces dominated by wide, gaping maws lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth. Hollow, sunken eyes stared blankly into nothing, as if whatever life had once inhabited them was long gone.

And then there was it .

The mass loomed ahead, it was a fifteen-foot-wide, nightmare amalgamation of deep-sea and eldritch horrors: a writhing monstrosity of tentacles, eyes, and mouths. It gurgled, a guttural, resonant sound, and opened its numerous maws gaping wide, revealing rows upon rows of needle-like teeth. The creature’s many eyes fixed on them, each one focused with an unsettling, predatory intelligence. It oozed forward at an unnervingly slow pace, its slimy appendages reaching out with horrifying precision. Every so often, one of its tentacles wrapped around something—or someone. A scream would cut through the night, abruptly silenced as the victim was pulled into the creature’s grotesque, pulsating center and waiting mouths.

Sickening crunches resounding out into the night.

Karen’s circuits buzzed, her screen flickering erratically as she tried to process the overwhelming data. The mass was radiating strange energy spikes that disrupted her readings, but the truth was clear: they were up against something far worse than anything they’d seen before.

And watching it all, seated atop one of his watchdog creatures like a twisted parody of a king surveying his domain, was Plankton. Unbothered by the pandemonium around him, he lounged against a makeshift "throne" that had been grotesquely carved into the creature’s upper body. His tiny form was dwarfed by the monstrous amalgamation of muscle beneath him. Its many eyes peppering its unnatural bulk pulsated with green, corrupted energy that mirrored the glow in Plankton’s single eye. In his hand, he gripped a staff—a jagged, grotesque thing seemingly carved from bone, pulsating with the same green energy that seemed to fuel the chaos around him.

Plankton’s expression was one of smug satisfaction, his smirk twisting cruelly as he watched the survivors struggle against the ever-mounting odds. He tapped the staff idly against the creature’s leathery hide, as if bored, though the glint in his eye betrayed his amusement at the chaos he’d orchestrated.

“Faster, Sandy,” Karen said, her voice eerily calm, but there was an edge beneath it—a tension that betrayed just how wrong everything was.

Sandy didn’t hesitate. She floored the gas, the boatmobile lurching forward with a growl as it hurtled toward the scene. The closer they got, the clearer it became—and the worse the sinking feeling in Sandy’s gut grew.

There were fewer survivors than before.

“C’mon, c’mon, hold on,” Sandy muttered under her breath, her grip tightening on the wheel until her knuckles turned white. Her heart thundered in her chest like a jackrabbit’s. The survivors were scattered, fighting desperately, but they were losing ground fast.

Are we too late?

Sandy slammed the brakes, the boatmobile screeching to a halt. She and Karen jumped out in unison, moving without hesitation.

Karen’s screen flashed bold, glowing text: READY FOR BATTLE.

A sharp, echoing laugh cut through the chaos, loud and full of cruel delight. “Well, well, well,” came a voice that made Sandy’s fur bristle. “The cavalry has arrived. Took you long enough!”

They turned toward the sound, and there he was—Plankton.

Seated atop his grotesque watchdog, Plankton straightened, leaning forward as if greeting old friends at a dinner party. His staff rested across his knees, glowing faintly in time with the green energy that pulsed through the battlefield. “Ah, the dynamic duo!” he crowed, his grin widening as his single eye gleamed with malice. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Thought you could actually escape—Especially you, Karen? Please! You got lucky once but you might as well have sent me an invitation for this little party. ‘Dear Plankton, meet us here for your inevitable victory!’” He cackled, the sound grating and sharp.

Karen rolled closer, her circuits buzzing sharply as she processed the scene before them. Her tone was clipped but steady as she called up to him. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Plankton. How long did it take you to sell out what was left of yourself for all this ?” She gestured broadly to the writhing monstrosity and the chaos surrounding them.

Plankton’s grin faltered for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, his smirk twisting into something even darker. “A sellout? You know, you really have changed, Karen—don’t embarrass yourself with sentimentality. This isn’t about selling out—it’s about power. And finally I’ve found a source that doesn’t disappoint.” He tapped his staff against the creature’s hide for emphasis, the sound reverberating with an unsettling thrum. “Ancient eldritch energy—limitless, untamed, and far more reliable than robots who think they can grow a conscience.”

Karen’s screen dimmed slightly, her expression hardening. “And here I thought your delusions of grandeur couldn’t get any worse. A pity it’s all going to come crashing down.”

Plankton’s eye twitched, but his grin remained fixed in place. “Ah, Karen, you’ve always been such a nagging harpy. But that’s what I liked about you—predictable to a fault. Until you weren’t.” His voice dropped, venom dripping from every word. “You were supposed to be my greatest creation. My partner. And now look at you—playing sidekick to this rodent in a space suit.”

Sandy’s lip curled, her tail lashing behind her as she took a step forward. “Hey! You best watch your tongue, Plankton, or I'll do it for ya! At least she ain’t a two-bit coward ridin’ the coattails of some ancient mumbo jumbo! You made this mess, Plankton. We’re just here to clean it up.”

Plankton’s eye narrowed, there was a flicker of something more dangerous behind it—rage, barely contained beneath the surface. “I’ll say what I want,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. Then, regaining his composure, he gestured grandly to the battlefield—the chanting cultists, the towering eldritch monstrosity writhing in the background. “Clean it up? Look around, sweet Cheeks.” His tone turned mocking, each word like a dagger. “You’re outnumbered, outmatched, and completely out of your depth. Face it—you’ve already lost.”

His tone dropped lower, colder, the grin sliding into something cruel and dangerous. “This power… this world belongs to me now. And I’m about to make sure that becomes painfully clear for you.”

With that, Plankton slammed the staff against the creature’s leathery skin, sending a ripple of green energy surging outward. The ground trembled violently, cracks spiderwebbing through the street as a low, guttural roar erupted from the monstrosity. The cultists’ chanting rose to a fever pitch, their voices merging with the eldritch screeches of the creature as it thrashed wildly. Tentacles lashed out, smashing through buildings and dragging debris into gaping maws.

One survivor, caught mid-run, screamed as a tentacle wrapped around their torso. Their cry cut off abruptly as the creature yanked them into one of its slavering jaws. The wet, sickening crunch that followed sent a wave of nausea rolling through Sandy’s stomach.

Karen’s screen flashed red text: HIGH THREAT DETECTED.

“We’ve got incoming!” Karen warned, pivoting to intercept the first of the cultists that lunged at them, a blur of shadow slicing through the air with unnatural speed. Sandy was already on it. With a battle cry, she ducked low and countered, driving an uppercut into the figure’s midsection. The impact sent the cultist sprawling.

Karen rolled forward, her arms extending with mechanical precision as she unleashed an electrical shock that sent another cultist convulsing to the ground. “Sandy!” she called sharply, her voice cutting through the chaos. “The creature—we need to stop it before it takes anyone else!”

Sandy’s eyes darted toward the monstrosity, her stomach flipping as she watched one of its slimy tentacles coil around Chloe. Her wrench clattered to the ground as she struggled against its grip, her legs kicking wildly. Sandy’s heart plummeted, but in the same instant, adrenaline surged through her veins. 

“Cover me, Karen!” she shouted over her shoulder, already sprinting toward the writhing mass. Her fists clenched tight, her breath steady despite the storm raging inside her.

“On it!” Karen replied, rolling to intercept another cultist charging her way. She released a pulse of electricity that sent the figure sprawling to the ground, smoke rising faintly from their cloak.

Sandy sprinted toward the creature, dodging a sweeping tentacle that slammed into the ground beside her with enough force to crack the pavement. The earth beneath her feet felt unstable, rippling with the creature’s unnatural movements, but she didn’t slow down. She couldn’t.

With a burst of speed, she leapt onto a jagged chunk of debris and launched herself into the air. “Take this, ya overgrown sea slug!” Sandy yelled, bringing her fists down hard on one of the creature’s grotesque, unblinking eyes. The impact sent a ripple through its gelatinous body, and the tentacle holding Chloe slackened, releasing her. Chloe crumpled to the ground, gasping for air before scrambling to her feet and staggering away from the creature.

The monstrosity let out a guttural, otherworldly screech, its remaining eyes locking onto Sandy with seething malice. Before she could react, a tentacle whipped through the air with blinding speed, striking her mid-landing. The impact sent her hurtling downward, slamming into the ground with a bone-rattling thud that echoed through the battlefield.

She tumbled and rolled across the cracked pavement, her suit scraping against the jagged surface. Pain erupted through her ribs, sharp and relentless, as the air was violently forced from her lungs. Sandy gasped, clutching her side as she struggled to push herself upright, the world spinning around her.

“ Yes! Turn that meddling squirrel into roadkill!” Plankton crowed from the sidelines, his cackling echoing over the din.

“Sandy!” Karen’s voice rang out, sharp with alarm. Her screen flickered, displaying a blinking red exclamation mark. “Are you okay?!”

Sandy coughed, pushing herself up on shaky arms. Her ribs screamed in protest, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. “I’m fine!” she rasped, her voice strained but firm. “We’ve gotta hit it where it hurts—aim for the eyes!”

Karen didn’t hesitate. Rolling closer, her arms shifted into position as she powered up her high-energy laser—a near last-resort weapon she rarely deployed. “Time to go big,” she muttered before unleashing a concentrated burst of energy. It struck one of the creature’s many eyes, bursting it with a sickening squelch. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, coating the ground in viscous globs that smoked faintly.

The creature reeled, its thrashing tentacles slowing as it screeched in agony. 

“You always were a buzzkill, Karen!” Plankton shouted indignantly. “Can’t you let a guy enjoy a little mayhem?”

Karen displayed her screen into a perfect digital eye-roll but otherwise paid him no mind.

Sandy took advantage of the distraction, her eyes darting around the battlefield to take stock of the situation. Chloe had shaken off the shock of her near-death experience and was back in the fray, swinging her wrench at one of the smaller mutated fish. Fred, his injured leg slowing him down, still managed to keep a razor-toothed creature at bay, grunting with effort as he swung his tire iron in wide arcs. Harv let out a battle cry as he leaped forward, baseball bat raised high before bringing it down on another mutant with a resounding crack. And the other survivors too, scattered but still fighting, were holding their ground now. 

But it ain’t over yet.

“Sandy! Karen! Just focus on the big one—we’ve got the rest!” Mrs. Puff’s voice rang out from the chaos. Sandy’s head snapped toward her just in time to see her deliver a devastating uppercut to a cultist attempting to flank her. Without missing a beat, she inflated herself, sending a wave of attackers sprawling. Her eyes met Sandy’s for a brief second, her expression calm and confident. She’s got this. They’ve got this.

“You got it, Puff!” Sandy shouted back, throwing a thumbs-up. “One order of fried calamari comin’ right up!”

As Sandy closed in on the eldritch monstrosity, Plankton’s voice rang out once more, dripping with triumph. “Try all you like, squirrel! You’re the ones about to get cooked!” He spread his arms wide, his single eye gleaming with manic delight. “This is the dawn of the new world—and you’re nothing but dust in its wake!”

Sandy didn’t respond. She didn’t have time for his theatrics—not now. Her focus narrowed on the creature, her movements sharp and deliberate as she launched herself into the fray, pulling a small device from her pocket as she ran. It was her trusty laser pen, a glorified mini-lightsaber and a survivalist’s must-have—it cut through most anything with scalpel-like precision. Compact yet lethal, the miniature weapon had saved her hide more times than she could count. Flicking it on, the blade of light hummed to life, its glow sharp and steady in the night.

Karen was already in motion, rolling nimbly to avoid another lashing tentacle. “Next eye—nine o’clock!” she called out, her voice cool under pressure as she unleashed another laser blast that struck true. One of the creature’s bulbous eyes burst upon impact, ichor spewing from the wound as it shrieked, flailing in pain.

“Nice shootin’, Tex!” Sandy called, a determined grin breaking across her face as she darted closer, as agile as ever, ducking and weaving through the chaos. The creature’s tentacles whipped down around her with thunderous force, cracking the ground and sending debris flying in every direction. But Sandy was quick—quicker than the creature’s erratic movements. She ducked under one sweeping tendril and leaped over another, dodging each strike with precision, her body moving fluidly as if this were just another one of her high-stakes experiments. 

When a tentacle slammed down dangerously close, she somersaulted over it, her boots skidding slightly on the cracked pavement as she landed. She reached for her belt, yanking a flash bomb free, and with a flick of her wrist, hurled it directly at the creature’s grotesque, many-eyed form.

“Let’s see how you like this!”

The device exploded in a burst of blinding white light, casting jagged shadows across the street as the creature roared in disoriented fury. Its gelatinous form quivered and recoiled, its tentacles flailing aimlessly. Leaping over one, she landed on the creature’s slimy mass, relying on her tail for balance. The ground beneath her boots squelched unpleasantly, but she didn’t falter. With a fierce cry, she drove her laser pen into the center of one of the eyes clustered on its side, twisting the blade with all her strength. She carved through its mouths and eyes with rapid, precise strikes, ichor spraying with each cut. But even as she hacked away, it became clear this wasn’t enough. The creature was still moving, still fighting, and still horrifyingly whole.

One of its tentacles whipped out faster than she expected, slamming into the ground where she’d been standing just moments before. She hopped back, her breaths coming quick as her mind raced, reassessing the situation.

The creature’s movements had slowed, but not by much. If anything, it seemed angrier—its strikes growing heavier, its tentacles slamming into the pavement with seismic force. Sandy’s sharp eyes scanned its shifting, chaotic mass, her stomach twisting as she tried to make sense of its anatomy. Every time she thought she’d found a weak point, the creature’s form seemed to shift, mouths and eyes rearranging in a way that defied logic. Staring at it too long made her head ache, like trying to solve a puzzle where none of the pieces fit.

“Karen!” Sandy shouted, her voice tight with frustration. “You got any idea how to take this thing down? I’ve been slicin’ and dicing, but it just keeps comin’!”

Karen’s screen flickered as she processed the question, her circuits buzzing with renewed intensity. Her earlier scans had told her what she already suspected: this was a creature that shouldn’t be but obviously is. A viscous, gelatinous being that shouldn’t hold shape, much less have sentience, held together by the arcane and ancient. The dark energy of the new world order coalescing into this… thing, manifesting and giving shape.

“We need to fight fire with fire—and I think I have an idea how to do it.” Her earlier attacks had already drained her reserves to less-than-optimal levels, but if she could just… “I’m charging up my next shot, but I need you to buy some time. Approximately, two minutes and five seconds.” Karen said finally, her voice calm but weighted with urgency.

“You got it, girl! I’m on it!” Sandy shot back without hesitation.

Good. Karen needed to concentrate. She was busy rerouting her internal systems, her focus turning inward. The dark energy that had been coursing through her circuits since this nightmare began—it was foreign, ancient, and potentially volatile. But it was also powerful. She could feel it humming beneath her processors, coiled like a serpent, waiting to strike. If she could harness it, channel it into one concentrated blast, she might be able to destabilize the creature’s unnatural form.

I just need to control it, she thought, rechanneling every available resource. The glow of her laser shifted from its usual electric blue to an eerie green, the hum deepening as the weapon’s charge built steadily.

Meanwhile, Sandy sprinted toward the monster, dodging its erratic strikes with the skill of a martial artist in the heat of battle. One tentacle came down in a wide arc, and she slid beneath it just in time, popping up on the other side with a sharp jab to the next appendage that came her way. She slashed through another with her laser pen, the blade cutting cleanly through the gelatinous mass, but the creature barely slowed.

Sandy was so focused on the fight, she didn’t notice the cultist that had slipped away from the rest until it was almost too late.

“Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!” the figure screamed, their voice shrill and otherworldly as they lunged at Sandy from behind, a jagged blade raised high.

The yell was her only warning. Sandy twisted at the last second, the blade grazing across her back and slicing through her suit. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, as she hissed through her teeth. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to. 

Whipping around, she lashed out with a perfectly aimed karate chop, catching the cultist at the base of their neck with enough force to drop them instantly. The robed figure crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, their knife clattering uselessly beside them.

Sandy barely had a moment to breathe before something coiled tightly around her ankle. She gasped as the pressure yanked her off balance, her feet swept out from under her. She hit the ground hard, her ribs protesting with a sharp ache, but before she could regain her footing, the world tilted. The grip on her leg tightened like a vice, and suddenly, she was being dragged upward, her body swinging violently as the eldritch creature lifted her into the air.

Her vision blurred for a split second, the rush of blood to her head disorienting her. Sandy flailed, trying to cut herself free, her fingers scrabbling for her laser pen. But before she could reach the appendage around her ankle, she was slammed down with bone-rattling force. Her head struck the glass of her helmet with a sickening crack , the impact sending a spiderweb of fractures crawling across the visor. Her laser pen skittered across the ground, out of reach.

Somewhere in the distance, Plankton’s mocking laughter rang out, high and cruel.

Pain shot through her skull as her ears rang, the world around her reduced to muffled noise and blurred shapes. She thought she heard someone calling her name—faint and distant—but the sound was drowned out by the pounding of her own pulse and the creature’s guttural, otherworldly growls.

Before she could recover, the tentacle yanked her up again, and her stomach lurched as she was swung toward the creature’s gaping maw—a dark, cavernous abyss lined with rows of glistening, razor-sharp teeth. Fear sliced through her like a cold blade, quick and merciless. She barely had time to process the memories flashing behind her eyes: the warmth of her treedome bathed in sunlight, the electric thrill of her experiments, the faces of family and friends, Karen’s laugh—Karen’s voice. 

And now, staring into the beast’s maw, cold and merciless realization settled in her chest. This was it. 

She was going to die.

Just then, something slammed into her a second time, knocking her off course. The momentum sent her spinning, and she seized the opportunity with desperate determination. Twisting her body, Sandy grabbed at the tentacle still wrapped around her ankle, her fingers digging into its slimy, putrid flesh. With a guttural grunt and clenched teeth, she pulled and tore, gruesomely ripping it apart in her gloved hands. Ichor sprayed everywhere, its stench burning her nose, but she didn’t stop. She kept pulling until the tentacle gave way with a sickening snap .

She fell, flipping mid-air, and landed on her feet like a cat—her knees wobbling slightly from the dizziness pounding in her skull, but she stayed upright. Breathing hard, Sandy shook her head, trying to clear the haze. Her vision focused just in time to see what—or who—had collided with her to save her.

Her heart plummeted.

“Mrs. Puff!” Sandy cried, horror washing over her like a tidal wave.

Mrs. Puff looked back at her, eyes wide and filled with panic, her mouth open in a silent scream. Half of her body was no longer visible, already crushed by the creature’s massive, oozing maw. Her arms clawed at the air, desperate to free herself, but the beast’s slimy jaws clenched tighter, its tentacles curling possessively around her torso.

“No—Poppy—NO!” Sandy screamed, her voice cracking with raw desperation. Somewhere behind her, she heard Big Ray’s broken cry echo through the chaos: “ PUFF! ”

Mrs. Puff’s trembling hands reached out, her lips forming the beginning of Sandy’s name. “S-San—!”

CRUNCH.

The sound was deafening, visceral. It ripped through the air like thunder, the kind of sound that didn’t just echo—it stayed , burrowing into Sandy’s chest like a jagged shard of ice. Mrs. Puff’s screams turned to something raw and guttural, then stopped entirely.

Sandy could only watch in stunned, helpless horror as the life drained from Mrs. Puff’s eyes. Her body went limp, the fight leaving her completely, and with one final grotesque gulp, the creature dragged her down into its glistening, blood-soaked maw. The sound—wet, squelching, horrifying—etched itself into Sandy’s mind, impossible to escape.

“No…” The word barely left Sandy’s lips, more breath than sound, as if saying it aloud might somehow reverse what she’d just seen.

From his comfortable perch atop the eldritch watchdog, Plankton’s voice pierced the thick air like a blade, smug and dripping with venom. “Ah, tsk tsk tsk! Another one bites the dust! Another point to team Plankton! ” He threw his tiny arms wide, as though basking in applause that only he could hear. “Honestly, at this rate, you might as well give up now! You can’t stop me—no one can! Not when I have this kind of power!” He rapped the jagged end of his staff against the creature’s leathery surface, sending faint pulses of sickly green energy radiating outward.

“All hail, Plankton! Cthulhu fhtagn! ” the cultists chanted in response, their voices a warped, unsettling mix of guttural cries and fanatical fervor. Even the mutated fish gurgled along in their unnatural tongue, their razor-lined jaws snapping erratically as if laughing at their despair. The sound reverberated, filling the air with a madness that threatened to suffocate.

But Sandy wasn’t hearing them anymore.

Her mind reeled, clinging to fractured thoughts—memories of Mrs. Puff laughing, the Gal Pals hanging out and running pranks, her teaching students how to drive then how to survive , and most recently, standing defiantly in the face of an apocalypse. That strong, fierce woman had been reduced to nothing more than prey, snuffed out like a candle in the dark. 

Mrs. Puff was gone. Gone in a flash of crimson and terror .

And Sandy… Sandy had been powerless to stop it.

A knot of rage began to smolder in the hollow of her chest, hot and consuming, battling the cold numbness that threatened to drag her under. Her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles ached beneath her gloves. She felt the sharp bite of her nails digging into her palms even through the material—a reminder that she was still here, still breathing. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t force her legs to take a single step. She was frozen, paralyzed by the brutal finality of what she had just witnessed.

And then came the voice.

“Oh, what’s the matter, squirrel? Snail got your tongue? Or is it guilt?” Plankton’s voice sliced through her spiraling thoughts like a dagger, his jeering tone dripping with venom. He leaned forward from his twisted perch atop the eldritch watchdog, his single eye gleaming with that sickly green hue that mirrored the chaos around him. “You brought them here, didn’t you? These poor fools—dragged into your little crusade only to die for it. And for what?” He cackled, low and biting, the sound burrowing into Sandy’s skull. “How noble of you, Cheeks. Face it—you’re out of your depth. You can’t save them. You can’t even save yourself.”

The knot of rage flared brighter, sharper now, a searing heat cutting through the fog. His words stabbed at her like barbs, cruel and precise, twisting in her chest. But they also began to crack through the suffocating numbness that had gripped her. Her fingers unflexed and flexed again, claws scraping faintly against her palms as she tried to ground herself. The static in her ears began to recede, replaced by the faint sound of Karen’s voice cutting through the cacophony like a blade.

“...dy. Sandy! Move!”

Karen’s voice jolted her further awake, crackling with urgency, sharp as a whip. Before Sandy could fully process the words, Karen barreled in front of her, blocking her view of the creature. Her screen blazed with an unnatural green light, bright and unyielding as her laser completed powering up.

Karen’s voice was steady but electric with determination, cutting through Sandy’s haze like a beacon. “Focus, Sandy! This isn’t over!”

Karen’s laser fired, releasing a blinding green burst of energy that screamed through the air and struck the creature dead in one of its enormous, unblinking eyes. The impact rippled through its gelatinous body, sending wet, oozing chunks splattering to the ground. Its form convulsed violently, twitching and shifting in ways that defied logic. Eyes rolled back and bile-black ooze poured from its gnashing mouths. Its tentacles spasmed uncontrollably, stiffening and then going limp in a grotesque rhythm. 

The beast let out a shriek so high-pitched and piercing it shattered the remnants of broken windows nearby, the sound reverberating like nails on a chalkboard. Its massive, chaotic form flickered and warped, destabilizing as Karen’s blast coursed its way through the eldritch mass, disrupting its ancient energy.

Above the chaos, Plankton’s voice rang out again, but this time it was strained, laced with frustration. “Dammit, Karen! Do you have any idea how long it took me to summon that thing?! The rituals, the sacrifices, the incantations! Ugh, the paperwork alone was a nightmare!” He slapped his tiny hand against the arm of his grotesque throne, his smug veneer cracking as his irritation spilled out.

Karen’s screen glowed brighter, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. Cold, razor-sharp, and brimming with controlled fury, she leveled her words at Plankton. “No, but we’re ending it. Right here. Right now. Your bloated ego has claimed enough lives tonight.”

Her words were sharp, a lifeline pulling Sandy back from the brink and yanking her fully back into the present. Her heart still thundered in her chest, but now it pumped something else—unrelenting adrenaline surging back into her system like fire in her veins. 

The grief clawed at the edges of her mind, raw and relentless. Mrs. Puff’s death—the deaths of the others—weren’t just losses. They were a wounds that refused to close, gaping and bleeding into the cracks of her resolve. But Karen was right. This wasn’t over. Not yet. Not when there were still people left to fight for.

She squared her shoulders, tightening her jaw as resolve pulsed through her like a second heartbeat. She met Karen’s glowing screen, a fierce determination sparking in her eyes. “Couldn’t agree more,” Sandy said, her voice low, steady, and charged with the fury of her grief. She cracked her knuckles for emphasis, the motion deliberate, grounding herself in the moment. “Let’s finish this.”

Karen didn’t waste time. Her screen flickered with the calculations she was running, and her charging laser glowed a dangerous green as she powered up. “I’ll cover you. Whatever you’re going to do, make it count.”

Sandy nodded and bolted forward without hesitation, her boots striking the ground with precision as she closed the distance between herself and the eldritch monstrosity. The creature’s destabilized form flickered erratically, its tentacles lashing and twisting in ways that defied logic.

Dodging and weaving through the chaos, Sandy pulled a cylindrical device from her belt. A press of its red button activated it, the bomb beginning to beep in a steady rhythm that quickly grew faster. Every step she took was weighted—with grief, with rage, with the desperate need to act. Mrs. Puff’s loss clung to her ankles like a phantom, threatening to drag her down, but Sandy refused to give in. She forced herself to move, her mind locked on the mission. Stopping wasn’t an option.

The creature’s tentacles converged on her, their movements erratic but alarmingly fast, as though sensing the danger she posed.

“Jump!” Karen’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.

Sandy leaped just as a blast of green energy seared through the air, disintegrating the cluster of tentacles mid-swing. The shockwave from Karen’s blast sent the air rippling around her. Sandy landed, rolling into a slide beneath another sweeping appendage. “Open wide, ugly!” she yelled, launching the bomb into one of the creature’s gaping, shifting mouths. The device disappeared into the writhing, gelatinous maw, swallowed by the flickering, unstable mass.

Sandy barely had time to scramble back to her feet before she felt a strong grip on her wrist, jerking her off-balance. “Hold on!” Karen’s voice commanded, and suddenly, Sandy was being yanked onto Karen’s speeding platform.

Karen leaned her stem forward, accelerating to top speed as her wheels tore across the broken pavement. Electrical pulses shot from her arms in controlled bursts, keeping stray tentacles at bay while she expertly navigated the chaos.

Behind them, the bomb’s beeping reached a frantic crescendo before—

BOOM!

The explosion tore through the air with a deafening roar, the shockwave slamming into them. Karen’s wheels momentarily lifted off the ground, her stabilizers engaging just in time to land them with a fishtail skid. Around them, chunks of black goop rained down in disgusting plops, followed by a brief, noxious downpour of ichor.

Sandy wiped at her helmet, grimacing as she glanced back at the carnage. The creature was still twitching, but its form had collapsed, tentacles disintegrating into puddles of corrupted sludge. The eerie chanting of the cultists faltered, their voices losing momentum as panic rippled through their ranks.

A high-pitched, unhinged scream of fury cut through the aftermath, shrill enough to make Sandy’s fur stand on end. “ No! NO! ” Plankton’s voice was a crackling mix of rage and frustration.

Sandy’s eyes snapped to him. The self-proclaimed "king" had risen from his throne, now standing atop the massive watchdog. His tiny frame trembled with fury, his grip on the pulsating staff so tight it looked like it might snap. The green energy coursing through it flared wildly, erratic and unstable, casting jagged shadows across his contorted face.

“This isn’t over!” Plankton snarled, jabbing the staff downward to steady himself as the eldritch watchdog beneath him shifted uneasily. His single eye burned with malice as he pointed the staff at them like a blade. “You think this is a victory? You think you’ve stopped me?! This is nothing! NOTHING! We’ll be back—stronger, smarter, unstoppable! You’re nothing but gnats biting at the heels of a god!”

Karen rolled to a stop, turning slightly to face him. Her screen flickered with a faint, sardonic glow. “And you’ve always been a parasite too stubborn to know when it’s beaten.”

Plankton’s teeth gnashed audibly, his fury bubbling over into a wordless scream. He slammed the staff down again, and the green energy rippled outward, forming a protective barrier around himself and his eldritch “steed”. “Strategic retreat!” he screeched to the cultists and monsters, his voice cracking as he spat the command. “You heard me—retreat, you idiots! Fall back! Obey your master!”

As the cultists scrambled to obey, the eldritch watchdog beneath Plankton began lumbering away, carrying its fuming "king" to safety. His voice echoed over the battlefield, high and grating. “Enjoy your little moment while you can, Cheeks, Karen! Next time, I won’t be so merciful!”

“No! He’s getting away!” Big Ray roared, breaking into a run toward the retreating monstrosity. The remaining mutated fish and cultists scattered, fleeing in Plankton’s wake as if magnetized to his power.

“Oh, no he ain’t!” Sandy shouted, her sharp Texan drawl carrying above the chaos. Her eyes never left Plankton, her fists clenching tightly. She turned toward Karen, her expression fierce. “Karen, you think you can disrupt that barrier?”

Karen didn’t hesitate. She rolled forward in pursuit, her screen flickering with determination as she calculated her next move. “I’m on it.” Her tone was calm, but there was an edge to it—a weight that made Sandy’s stomach twist with unease.

Karen’s systems were already screaming at her—her battery reserves dangerously low after her earlier attacks. Internal warnings blared, flashing across her screen in urgent red text: CRITICAL POWER LEVELS. SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. She ignored them. There was no time for hesitation, no time for doubt.

“This will be my last shot,” Karen said, her voice steady but softer now, almost apologetic. “Sandy, as soon as I fire, you’ll need to move quick.”

Sandy grinned fiercely, her resolve burning through the weariness in her limbs. “This is ‘boutta be quicker than a knife fight in a phone booth,” she assured, already pulling a coiled rope from her belt. She adjusted her grip, her eyes locked on her target.

Karen’s screen flickered briefly, and for a moment, there was something almost fond in the glow of her display. “You’ll find a spare battery in my compartment,” she added quickly, cutting off any protests before Sandy could voice them.

“Wait, what d’ya mean—” Sandy started, but before she could finish, Karen fired.

The green light shot from Karen’s laser, weaker than her previous blasts but still sharp enough to tear through the shimmering barrier surrounding Plankton and his watchdog. The barrier flickered and collapsed with a hiss, the corrupted energy dispersing into the air like smoke.

Karen lurched, her wheels grinding to a halt as her arms dropped limply to her sides. Her screen dimmed, the familiar glow fading into a hollow black void. She went still—silent and lifeless.

“Karen!” Sandy’s heart plunged, the sight of Karen’s inert form hitting her like a punch to the gut. It was irrational, she knew—Karen wasn’t gone, not really—but the fear clawed at her all the same. Her mind flashed back to Mrs. Puff, and her chest tightened, the grief threatening to drown her again. No. I can’t lose her, too.

But Karen’s last words echoed in her head, anchoring her to the moment. Sandy gritted her teeth, forcing herself to move. Karen trusted her to finish this, and she wasn’t about to let her down.

With a guttural yell, Sandy vaulted off Karen’s platform, her boots slamming into the ground. She hit the pavement running, her rope swinging overhead in a tight, precise arc like an avenging angel’s halo. The enormous watchdog’s legs pounded against the earth as it retreated, and perched atop its back, Plankton’s tiny figure came into focus.

“Hey, Plankton!” Sandy bellowed, her voice fierce and unrelenting. “Your throne’s lookin’ a little shaky!”

Plankton whipped around, his eye widening in panic as the lasso came flying toward him. “What the—NO! You insolent rodent!” he screeched, his limbs flailing as the rope coiled around him with perfect precision.

Sandy yanked hard, the motion fueled by rage and adrenaline. The force ripped Plankton from his slimy perch, sending him hurtling through the air. “Let go of me, you backwater buffoon!” he shrieked, thrashing helplessly as Sandy reeled him in.

The watchdog beneath him faltered, its movements slowing in the void of Plankton’s control but it didn’t stop even in the absence of its master.

And Sandy didn’t stop neither. She hauled Plankton closer, her teeth bared in a feral grin as she finally closed the distance. “You ain’t runnin’ this time, ya pint-sized pest!” she growled, her grip tightening on the rope as she hoisted him up, dangling like a fish on a hook before her. Plankton glared at her, his eye blazing with fury, but there was a flicker of fear behind it now—a realization that, for once, he was at her mercy.

Before Plankton could spew another word, Sandy yanked the rope hard, pulling him up to her face. Her dark eyes burned with barely restrained fury, her voice dropping to a low, venomous growl. “You’re gonna regret every second of this mess you made, Plankton. Mark my words.”

Plankton opened his mouth, his sharp tongue ready with a retort, but he never got the chance. With a fierce twist of her wrist, Sandy spun and slammed him against a nearby metal railing. The impact rattled through the structure with a metallic clang, and Plankton let out a yelp, his tiny limbs flailing in protest.

“You can’t do this to me!” he shrieked, his voice pitching high with indignation. “Do you even know who I am now?!”

“Yeah,” Sandy snapped, her voice as cold as steel. “You’re the coward who hides behind monsters and other people’s misery. And right now, you’re the varmint tied to a rail, so shut yer trap.” With that, she tightened the rope one last time, securing him to the railing so tightly that his struggles only made the knots dig deeper. His curses devolved into muffled grumbling as Sandy turned her back on him, her focus snapping back to the remaining hostiles.

But the chaos around them was shifting. The absence of Plankton’s commanding presence—or perhaps the corrupted energy he had wielded—was beginning to ripple through the opposition. Cultists faltered mid-chant, their wild fervor dimming as if unsure of what to do. The mutated fish let out low, guttural cries, their aggression fading into confusion. One by one, they began to scatter into the shadows, their retreat punctuated by low, frenzied chants of “Cthulhu fhtagn.” The echoes of their voices dissipated into the oppressive darkness, leaving an eerie quiet in their wake.

Sandy exhaled sharply, the tension in her shoulders easing—if only slightly. The immediate threat was retreating, but there was no victory in her heart. Her gaze flickered toward Karen’s motionless form in the distance, and her chest tightened painfully. Karen’s screen was dark, her body slumped lifelessly where Sandy had left her after the desperate final shot.

“Hold on, Karen,” she muttered under her breath, her voice cracking despite herself. “I’m comin’.”

But before she could move, Big Ray and the remaining survivors caught up, their footsteps heavy on the cracked pavement. Sandy turned to face them, and the sight of their drawn, grief-stricken faces made her heart sink.

The loss of Mrs. Puff and the others weighed on them all like a physical burden, carving exhaustion and sorrow into their expressions. Sandy could see it in their eyes—some looked lost, others simply hollow. But then their gazes shifted. One by one, their eyes landed on Plankton, tied up and helpless.

Their grief transformed, twisting into something raw and angry. Fury sparked in their eyes as they closed ranks, their movements slow and deliberate.

Sandy’s breath hitched, a flicker of panic rising in her chest. They weren’t just angry. They were ready for blood.

“Wait—” Sandy stepped in front of them, her gloved hands raised as if she could physically hold back their fury. “Don’t—just wait a second—”

Her voice was lost in the wave of raw anger that erupted from the group. Their collective roar was like a crashing wave, fueled by grief, rage, and the unshakable images of horrific deaths. Sandy’s breath caught as she realized just how close they were to losing control entirely. The mob surged forward, their weapons and tools gripped tightly, their eyes alight with the same primal anger Sandy herself felt burning in her chest.

Then, like a thunderclap cutting through a storm, Big Ray’s voice boomed.

“STAND DOWN!”

At the back of the mob, Big Ray stepped forward, his massive frame parting through the crowd like a ship through stormy waters. He came to a stop at the front, his stature looming over the group, his very presence a living wall of authority. Ray’s voice carried the weight of command and grief, and it rippled through the survivors like a shockwave. Their momentum faltered, the furious energy hesitating as they turned to look at him.

Even as he stood there, Ray’s face betrayed the depth of his own anguish. The muscles in his jaw twitched with barely-contained emotion, and his broad shoulders heaved under the weight of loss. Sandy could see it—the way Mrs. Puff’s death and the deaths of their own had gutted him. More than anyone else here, he bore the brunt of their absence. Mrs. Puff especially, had been his mentor, his partner, his friend. And yet, here he was, keeping himself together while the rest of them unraveled.

“But Big Ray!” Harv, one of the braver survivors, called out, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion. “What about Morty? What about Mable, Scooter, and Old Man Walker? What about Puff the Tuff?!”” His voice trembled in anger and grief—rising in a fever-pitch with each name, raw and pleading.

A ripple of agreement spread through the group. Some shouted their support, near hysteric, while others muttered amongst themselves—their voices rising like an uneasy tide.

Ray raised a halting fin, his tone steady but raw. “We’re not doin’ this,” he said, his voice slicing through the murmurs. “We’re not gonna stoop to his level.”

The mob stilled, their fury simmering just below the surface. But Ray’s presence gave them pause. 

He pointed at Plankton, who was writhing against his bindings like an angry worm. “This little maggot doesn’t deserve the satisfaction,” Ray spat, his voice thick with disdain. “He’s not worth it.”

Plankton’s head snapped up at the insult, his single eye narrowing. “Maggot?!” he screeched, his voice pitching higher with indignation. “ You lumbering oaf! I am a criminal mastermind! A genius—”

“Shut it!” Ray barked, the words snapping through the air like a whip. The raw authority in his voice made Plankton recoil slightly, his mouth clamping shut. For the first time, his bravado faltered. Against the backdrop of the mob, he looked comically small, his wriggling more pathetic than menacing.

Sandy exhaled sharply, relief washing over her like a wave. She hadn’t been ready for this—not for the bearing the brunt of their grief, their anger, or the responsibility they were all silently placing on her. Normally, leadership came naturally to her. She’d always been the one to step up, to make the hard calls. But this… this was different. The brutality of Mrs. Puff’s death-of the others lost-the relentless cruelty of the Endless Night was testing her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

Ray’s next words were quieter but carried no less weight. “Mrs. Puff wouldn’t want this,” he said, his voice hoarse. “She wouldn’t want us to lose ourselves like this. She’d want us to keep fightin’. To stick together. We honor the people we’ve lost by stayin’ strong. By fightin’ smart. Not by givin’ in to this. We don’t let him win by losin’ ourselves.”

The mob shifted uneasily, the fight slowly draining from their eyes. Sandy saw the way their grief softened into exhaustion, their anger tempered by the truth in Ray’s words. One by one, they began to step back, their weapons lowering. The weight of their loss was still there, heavy and suffocating, but Ray had managed to stop it from consuming them entirely.

Plankton, however, wasn’t done. “Oh, how noble,” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “A touching little speech from the peanut gallery. But let me remind you—you’ve already lost. You think you’ve won because you tied me up? Hah! You’re nothing but—”

“Quiet, you!” one of the survivors snapped, stepping forward and slamming their wrench against the metal railing. The sharp clang echoed through the street, and Plankton flinched, his tirade breaking off into muttered grumbles.

Sandy turned to Ray, her throat tight. She wanted to thank him properly, to tell him just how much it meant that he’d stepped up when she couldn’t. But the words caught in her throat. Instead, she managed a shaky, “Thanks, Ray. I don’t know if—” Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it. “Thanks.”

Ray’s expression softened, the hard edge of his grief giving way to a quiet determination. “Don’t mention it. We’re all feelin’ this, Sandy. But Puff… she’d want us to keep movin’. For her.”

Sandy nodded, though her chest still ached with a weight she couldn’t shake and she swallowed hard, her gaze flicking to the survivors. They were regrouping now, murmuring quietly among themselves. Their grief hadn’t gone anywhere, but Ray had given them focus, a way to channel their pain without letting it consume them.

Usually, she prided herself on her ability to rally a crowd. Often putting her resilience, her survival skills, her ability to stay calm under pressure into the spotlight, front and center when people needed hope. But this apocalypse tested her mettle and she was beginning to doubt herself, their chances. She was starting to feel out of her depth. 

She had faced danger before. She’d been around death, endured loss, and kept moving. She knew well what survival required. But the sheer cruelty of this new world, the callous brutality of the massacre she’d just witnessed, was something she couldn’t shake. It was something she would never get used to. No amount of preparation could have readied her for this—the endless grief, the crushing guilt, the weight of the lives lost on her watch.

For the first time since she was a kit, she felt truly weak.

Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, fighting back the lump threatening to choke her words. But she clenched her fists, forcing herself to push the thoughts aside. There wasn’t time for weakness—not now. Not when there were still people depending on her.

She glanced toward Karen’s motionless form, her focus shifting. “I need to get to Karen,” she said, her voice tight with a returning urgency. “She’s—she’s out of power. Said there’s a spare battery in her compartment.”

Ray frowned and his brow furrowed in concern before glancing at Karen's inert silhouette in the distance. “Go,” he said firmly. “We’ll keep an eye on him.” He jabbed a thumb toward Plankton, whose glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “He’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“Good.” Sandy shot one last look at Plankton, her lip curling in disgust. Then, without another word, she turned and bolted toward Karen, her boots pounding against the pavement. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as she closed the distance, her heart racing faster with every step.

“Hold on, Karen,” she muttered, the words a near-broken, desperate mantra. “I’m not losin’ you too.”

As she reached Karen’s still form, Plankton’s shrill distant voice rose behind her again, full of impotent rage. “You think this is over?! You think you’ve won?! I’ll be back, and when I am—”

“Would you shut up already?! ” another survivor yelled, their patience finally snapping. They stomped closer to Plankton, raising their weapon threateningly. The sight of it had Plankton’s words breaking off into a growl, and his single eye still burned with fury, though he was finally quiet otherwise.

Sandy ignored him completely. All her focus was on Karen now, on the hope that she could bring her partner back online.

Skidding to a stop beside Karen, her breath hitching as she dropped to her knees. Karen’s form was eerily still, her screen dark and lifeless. Sandy reached out tentatively, her gloved fingers brushing against Karen’s smooth casing. She’d seen Karen power down before, sure—but this was different. Karen wasn’t just out of battery. She was… empty and Sandy felt her absence more than ever.

She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. “Nope. Ain’t gonna start thinkin’ like that. Not now,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She could still hear Plankton’s voice faintly in the background, whining and ranting, but it was distant, inconsequential. All that mattered was Karen.

“Alright, darlin’,” Sandy murmured softly, pulling her multitool from her belt with hands that trembled just slightly. “Let’s getcha back up and runnin’.”

Karen’s last words before her shutdown echoed in Sandy’s ears. “You’ll find a spare battery in my compartment.” She worked quickly, flipping open a small hatch near Karen’s base. Inside, just as Karen had promised, was a neatly secured spare battery. Sandy’s hands hesitated for a moment, lingering over the drained battery still in place. Her jaw clenched as her thumb brushed against its casing. Karen’s silence felt too loud, too heavy, and it made Sandy’s chest feel like it was being crushed.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully disconnected the depleted battery, sliding it free with steady hands. But as she moved to slot the new one into place, her ears twitched. She paused, her helmeted head tilting slightly. There it was again—a faint hum. She leaned in closer, pressing her helmet to Karen’s chassis.

It was unmistakable. A faint, rhythmic buzz, like the sound of a heartbeat refusing to fade.

Her breath hitched. “Karen?” she whispered, almost afraid to speak too loud, as if the fragile sound might vanish. The hum continued—a spark of life still within her partner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Sandy’s heart flicker with hope. “Alright, sugarcube. Hold tight,” she muttered, her voice steadier now as she slid the new battery into place with a decisive click.

The moment the battery clicked into position, Karen’s body whirred louder, the hum growing into a faint, building vibration. Sandy leaned back, watching with bated breath as Karen’s screen flickered once, then twice. The glow was faint, like the first light of dawn, but it was there.

“Karen?” Sandy called, her voice tight with worry, her gloved fingers gripping the edge of Karen’s frame.

The screen stayed blank for an agonizing moment, and then a faint loading bar appeared. Relief surged in Sandy’s chest, but it was short-lived. The screen glitched suddenly, replaced by the strange, ominous glyphs from before—those jagged symbols that made Sandy’s stomach churn just looking at them. They glowed a sickly green before dissolving into static.

Finally, Karen’s familiar face materialized, though it was sluggish, her pixels blurring and glitching faintly at the edges.

“Karen?” Sandy repeated, her voice soft as a tentative grin broke across Sandy’s face, the tension in her chest beginning to loosen all at once like a rubber band snapping. Relief washed over her in waves. “There ya are, sugarcube. That’s it.”

Karen’s face blinked sluggishly, her tone faint and distant, like it was struggling to come through. “Sandy…?” she murmured, her voice crackling slightly. “Am I still dreaming?”

Sandy’s grin faltered as her relief paused. Karen had never talked like this before, and the confusion tugged at Sandy’s chest. “Dreamin’?”

Karen’s pixels flickered softly, the glitchiness still present but gradually stabilizing. “You won’t believe this,” Karen said, her voice weak but carrying an odd lightness. “But I’m fairly certain I was.”

“Hahhhh,” Sandy breathed, thrown off-kilter by the statement. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “An’ you’re sure about that?” she asked, her voice careful.

“Well,” Karen began, her voice gaining a faint, dreamy lilt, “it was us. Riding through this apocalypse together—but I was a seahorse.”

Sandy blinked. “A seahorse?”

“And I was beautiful ,” Karen added, her tone wistful. “I had this flowing, majestic mane, and we were speeding off into the sunset like heroes in a movie…” Her screen brightened faintly as she sighed dreamily, pressing her “hands” to her monitor where cheeks might’ve been.

Karen didn’t notice Sandy’s face at first, contorting in a strange way—her brow knit together, her lips pressed tightly as if she were holding something in.

But the sight of Karen waxing poetic about her imaginary seahorse-self was doing something to her, something that made her chest tremble and her stomach tighten.

“Sandy?” Karen’s pixels shifted with concern as she noticed the squirrel’s odd expression. “Are you alri—?”

Then it hit her. Sandy’s cheeks puffed out as she made an odd, strangled noise through her lips, and suddenly, she burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes, trailing and settling into the bottom of her helmet. “Seahorse? Ridin’?!” she wheezed between fits of laughter, her tail thrashing behind her as she doubled over.

Karen’s screen flashed with a faint blush of pixels. “What? It was a nice dream!” she retorted, though the corners of her display curled into an unwilling smile. Seeing Sandy laugh so freely—even if it was at her expense—sparked something warm in her circuits.

Sandy’s laughter rang louder, but somewhere along the way, it started to shift. The tears of mirth trickling down her cheeks turned heavier, and her gasps for air became interspersed with quiet, broken sobs.

Karen noticed the shift immediately. Her digital grin flickered and faded, replaced by an expression of deep concern. Her screen dimmed slightly as she leaned forward, her voice soft and tentative. “Sandy…?” she asked, the usual sharpness in her tone replaced by something gentler. Slowly, she extended a mechanical hand toward her, hesitant but steady.

Sandy’s shoulders began to shake, her laughter fading completely as the sobs overtook her. She pressed her gloved hands to her helmet, as if trying to hold herself together, but the dam had already burst. The weight of everything—the loss, the terror, the exhaustion—it came crashing down on her all at once.

The warmth Karen had felt moments ago was replaced by a strange, aching weight. Karen’s circuits whirred softly as she processed what she was seeing. It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation. It was confusing and overwhelming. She didn’t have a heart, not in the biological sense, but something inside her felt like it was breaking. 

Without a word, Karen extended her arms and wrapped them around the squirrel, pulling her close in a firm, steady embrace.

Sandy stiffened for a moment, but then she melted into it, leaning against Karen’s frame as sobs wracked her body. Karen could feel every tremor through her frame, every ounce of grief and exhaustion that poured out of her partner.

Karen’s screen flickered faintly as she processed the weight of it all. The Endless Night, the losses they’d endured, Mrs. Puff’s death—it was all too much. And Sandy, the unshakable force, the pillar of strength Karen had come to rely on, was breaking in her arms.

And it broke Karen too.

“It’s okay,” Karen murmured, her voice soft and steady, though there was a faint hitch in her tone. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

Sandy’s breaths came in uneven gasps as she clung to Karen, her helmet resting against Karen’s smooth surface. The grief poured out of her—grief for Mrs. Puff, for the survivors they’d lost, for the world they’d once known and would never see again.

Eventually her sobs grew quieter, but they didn’t stop entirely. She clung to Karen like she was the last solid thing in a crumbling world. And in that moment, Karen knew she would do everything in her power to keep Sandy standing, no matter what.

For a while, they stayed like that—partners in a broken world, holding each other together in the midst of chaos. The only sounds were the faint crackling of distant fires and the muted hum of Karen’s systems as they slowly recalibrated. Sandy clung to her like a lifeline, her breath hitching every so often as she let herself feel the full weight of everything they’d endured.