Taradiddle

After a long and quiet night, the sharp sound of my phone alarm dragged me out of sleep. I rolled over slowly, tried to reaching for it and my fingers brushing against the cold screen finally silenced it. For a moment, I just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, unwilling to face the day.

I forced myself up and made it out of the bed just like usual habit, but it only made the emptiness more obvious—an empty space, no one beside me. Just pure, cold and deafening silence. I let out a quiet sigh. “This line of work… it was never easy, and it was even harder alone.”

I walked to my closet, hesitating for a second before pulling out my STF commander uniform. Another day. Another mission.

I laid my commander uniform carefully across the bed before heading to the bathroom. I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. I took off my clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before stepping inside.

I lingered under the stream, letting the warm water run over me as I cleaned myself, lost in thought. Is my life even worth it? I’d already been through so much—saving people from the worst of humanity—yet it never seemed to end.

I sighed softly.

After the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist.

I went back to my room to put on my uniform and left my house, skipping breakfast. I took to the sky, the wind rushing past me as I headed toward STF Headquarters. Within minutes, I landed and made my way inside the building. As I stepped through the building’s entrance, the receptionist greeted me.

Receptionist: Good Morning, Commander Gavin.

Gavin: Morning.

I replied to the receptionist without slowing, continuing toward my office.

The door shut behind me with a dull thud. Piles of paperwork covered the desk, waiting to be signed —silent, suffocating.

I flipped through the documents one by one, each page blending into the next… until one made me stop.

A case file.

Isolated. Remote. A cabin.

Something about it felt wrong. Something about it told me I had to go there myself.

But first, I needed a meeting with my colleagues.

I reached for the phone and called my secretary, my voice steady but cold as I gave the order to gather everyone in the meeting room.

I walked out of my office and headed straight for the meeting room, where everyone has already gathered.

Eli and Tang were there, waiting for me to make the announcement. They were my most trusted colleagues here at STF HQ

I addressed everyone in the meeting room, my voice cutting through the silence.

“This new mission is an investigation. There’s a cabin—every family that buys it ends up facing… something. Fires. Disappearances. No clear cause.”

A ripple of unease spread through the room.

Low whispers broke out, quiet but restless— “Another one?” “That place again…” “I heard no one lasts a week there…”

I let them murmur for a moment before continuing.

“If anyone needs rescue, we intervene at once. No hesitation.”

The whispers died down, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence. No one looked entirely at ease anymore.

My gaze swept across the room, cold and unyielding.

“The mission starts in one week.”

Someone shifted in their seat. Another avoided eye contact. The tension was thick enough to feel.

I paused, letting it settle into them.

“You’re dismissed.”

Chairs scraped softly against the floor as people stood, but no one spoke. The unease lingered, clinging to the room even as they filed out.

As the meeting ended, my stomach growled—a sharp reminder that I had skipped breakfast.

I should eat.

There was a small café I had noticed while flying in earlier. It was not far.

I left the meeting room and headed out the front door, choosing to walk this time. The movement helped clear my head, even if only a little.

The café came into view soon enough. I ordered a sandwich and a drink, but when I turned around, all the seats were already taken.

I scanned the room, weighing my options… until I spotted an open seat across from a girl quietly reading a book.

I approached her and spoke,

Gavin: is this seat taken?

She looked at me from her book and met my gaze.

???: No, you may sit there.

Dear MLQC,

Thank you for being there for me during a tough time, especially when my mom was having problems with her ankle and leg. It started out as a temporary game for me while I was waiting for another game to come out—but it never did, and I’m actually glad it didn’t. I got to spend more time with all of you.

I was introduced to MLQC by a friend who also plays. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have experienced this wonderful game.

I originally started with Lucien. Thank you for teaching me science when I didn’t know anything about it, and for being patient with me. I learn something new every day with you. I hope you can see in color now, not just black and white. I’ll forever be your little butterfly.

Then I changed my mind and chose Victor as my second. He was mean to me at first, but I’m glad you’ve mellowed out over the years. Next time, my proposals will be better than the last one you read. Thank you for the tough love—I needed it. And… thanks for calling me “dummy.”

Shaw was never really a choice for me, sadly, but I did enjoy his bratty attitude. I hope one day he becomes an official LI—and Gavin’s little brother.

Third is Kiro. He feels like a little brother to me. Since getting to know him, I realized we share the same birthday! Thank you for being my superhero—cute, funny, and fun to be around. And thank you for calling me “Miss Chips.”

Finally, Gavin—my fourth and final choice. Thank you so much for being there for me when I needed it the most, especially during difficult times with my mom. Family can be very complicated, and I still don’t fully understand it, but I relate to you because of that.

Your love story was the one I enjoyed reading the most. I don’t often hear nicknames as sweet as “my girl,” but I love it so much. It’s my favorite nickname. I know your work is hard, and I understand that. I hope you stay safe and don’t get hurt during your missions. If you ever get injured, I’ll bandage you up right away. I’m always here if you need someone to talk to—I’ll listen to all your problems and even help you cook better.

Thank you again.

Thank you to the MLQC dev team.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

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