Chapter Text
To those of you who survived the Apocalypse,
I am a survivor and I hope you are, too.
In this journal, I will account the day of the Apocalylse and the following days until my last day.
I hope you can learn something from this. I hope you can survive this…
I hope you can fix this.
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To preface my story of how I became a survivor of the Apocalypse, I would like to present my findings. First of all, I have dubbed it SpongeRot.
As of now, March 14th, 2024, I believe it to have four stages. In this segment of this saga, I would like to brief you all on what these stages are in hopes of bettering your chances of survival. If there are any.
First, I would like to explain to all of you how it is transacted from an infected into your system.
The most likely form of transfer is through a bite. I don't know how it works but it does, so don't bother asking me.
The next most likely is through digesting food or fluid that contains SpongeRot. Simple enough solution: just don't.
Then, lastly, you may catch it through sexual intercourse. Though, I doubt this would ever happen to many of you. If any.
In the next segment, I will delve into the stages of SpongeRot. What it looks like and feels like. Listen closely, because you may already have the symptoms…
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Stage one: Infection
The infected, for example purposes let's say SpongeBob, will begin to display the common symptoms of a regular cold. This stage doesn't last long, so it can be easy to miss.
Stage Two: Sarcopenia
The infected will then begin to lose all muscle strength and mass. Their blood will become colder and denser as their body locks up and they enter a state of agitation.
Stage Three: Autolysis
In this stage, the infected cells will begin attacking itself. The organic functions of the body will be driven off the bones by white blood cells. Eyes will pop, muscles will melt and skin will peel. It is, without a doubt, the most gruesome stage and I do hope none of you witnessed it, as I have.
Stage Four: Corpus Animatum
Or, if you're not an artist such as yours truly, “animated corpse.” In this stage, the infected will largely be loose skin and deteriorated bone as they wander lifelessly, not a single brain cell left. Something seems to stop them from completely rotting, but we don't know what. Not yet.
Who are we? Other than myself, my partner is Sandy Cheeks. I've been bunking with her since the start of the Apocalypse - and I urge you, if you aren't infected, seek us in her Tree Dome on the outskirts of Bikini Bottom. We will help you.
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Day 1: It Begins with SpongeBob
Before I get into the nitty gritty of the end of the world as we know it, I'd like to preface this diary with a brief but everlasting moment of my childhood.
I was but a young boy. A fry, as it were. My mother and father took a vacation without me, dumping me into the hands of my distant grandmother.
While my grandmama, as I used to call her, baked her elaborate, five-star courses, I kept to myself and my thoughts. Books were my friends and music my companions. I danced the nights away but she never looked in my direction, always too busy perfecting her family fricassee recipe.
One fateful night I opened her fridge and found it mouldy. I asked her why she hadn't cleaned it out and she'd told me, “There's no use. It'll just get dirty again tomorrow.”
Those words clung to me throughout my adolescence into my adulthood, where I began to view the mould in the fridge as the sadness in my brain.
Why bother making yourself happy when you'll be sad again tomorrow?
I didn't know the answer… but those words cling harder to me now than they ever did.
Now, with all that's happened to Bikini Bottom, I view the moldy fridge as the abandoned city. The stains on the fridge walls as the infected monsters that roam the desolate streets.
I can't help but wonder if it's possible to clean the streets. Fix what has been lost to its former capitalist glory. Fix them back to their normal selves…
I don't know. And I won't delay you any longer. What you're about to read may disturb you - I know it did me. But I also hope you can find solace in it; in the fact that you didn't go through this alone, whomever you may be, dear reader.
It was another normal day at the Krusty Krab. SpongeBob was flipping patties behind the grill, humming the Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy theme song.
Some trash it was, an infection upon the ears. But that's an opinion for my biopic, not my journal. Now, where was I? That's right: that normal day.
Customers were loud as usual, not a single care in the world. It could've been the end of the world outside the Krusty Krab windows and they wouldn't have a single clue.
Mr Krabs was in his office, counting up how little of his money he would give to us come payday. Which was always at least two weeks late. Which was illegal, if you didn't know.
But the law doesn't matter anymore. There is no law. The end of the world came and nobody cared. Only a few of us made it, and SpongeBob wasn't one of them.
He was an idiot. A fool. A dunce. A Goofy Goober. Did I already say idiot? But he didn't deserve what happened to him… nobody did.
Where was I? Who was I? What was I doing? Relax, I know you'd all like to know who the genius is that survived SpongeRot.
It was a regular day at the Krusty Krab and I was doing my regular work, manning the serving boat behind the cashier, counting change for the local idiots of this deadbeat city. Not that they even knew what cash was. Or a virus.
Yes, that's right, my name is Squidward Quincy Tentacles and I was the cashier who saw the city come down in a frenzy of flesh-eating zombies.
I was the only survivor. Or so I thought. It turned out that Sandy survived too, but that's a tale for another dreary day in Hell.
No, let's rewind to when it started. It didn't start with SpongeBob, like everyone thought it did.
In reality, as we would find out later, it began with Sheldon J. Plankton. Neptune forbid who knows what the J stands for.
But it's safe to say that even he didn't know his chum was infected at first. But it didn't help that he didn't tell everyone when he did.
Plankton was a depressed sop. A tiny amaeba capable of creating weapons that could shoot down gods out of the sky.
But he was also an idiot, just like every other fish in this city. That regular day, as I served customers and SpongeBob cooked patties, Plankton devised yet another hopeless plan to steal the prized Krabby Patty formula.
He snuck into the Krusty Krab through the vent on the roof. He was all black and covered in coal dust when he revealed himself with his new fabled “Death Ray 7000” that he’d been rambling on about for days.
Mr Krabs and SpongeBob barged into the dining area when they heard his sinister laughter.
The two, alongside myself, were backed into a corner. We were trembling in fear of his laser gun. But… Well, something was different about the mad inventor.
He kept coughing. His dark green skin seemed paler than usual and his eye was all puffy and red. In simpler terms, he appeared very sickly. Not quite on his death bed but far from his days in the sun.
But I didn't take notice of it. Nor did anyone else. Nobody except SpongeBob SquarePants.
The idiot sponge stepped in front of us and asked Plankton - whom, need I remind you, was pointing a flipping laser gun at us - if the tiny villain was okay.
Plankton said he was fine but a cough interrupted his facade. He then proceeded to point the gun at us and pull the trigger.
Some of you may recall me shrieking for mercy and weeping for dear life when he pointed that thing at us but I disagree. If anything, had I had the chance, I would have knocked it out of his crazy hands and saved us all!
But I didn't. So, he pulled the trigger and out blasted the laser. Or so we later wished was our demise.
Poor old Plankton, it would seem, was too frail and weak to even pull the trigger an inch toward himself.
After realising the fact, Mr Krabs shuffled over to him and yanked it out of the stubby mitts he has for hands and hurled him back to the Chum Bucket.
That was the last we ever saw of Sheldon J. Plankton. At least in the flesh…
Later that day, after closing up the restaurant, SpongeBob told me he was going to visit Plankton and make sure he's feeling okay.
I didn't get it at the time but I wish that I had. If only I'd done the same for SpongeBob…
When I got home, I went about my usual nightly routine. Painting, reading, dancing. And to top it all off, a lovely bubble bath before bed.
That's when it happened. I'd just gotten my pyjamas on when I noticed out the window SpongeBob walking down the road to his Pineapple.
Usually, I'd have rolled my eyes at the mere sight of his yellow squareness but it was different then.
Looking upon him, I noticed he was unusually panicked. Pale, as though he had seen a ghost. His eyes were twitchy and his hands were shaking.
I should've ran outside then. I should have asked him if he was okay. If only… Then I would've seen the bite mark.
In any case, I went to sleep. SpongeBob looking odd wasn't out of the ordinary; in fact, it was a part of the normal.