It was 8:24 a.m. on May 22nd, and today was supposed to be Detective-Inspector James T. Richter’s day off.  After a daily run, he was taking a leisurely shower, enjoying the effect hot water had on sore muscles. When he heard the insistent sound of a phone ringing over the steady drum of water, it sounded like his work-crisis ringtone. Richter groaned, shut off the water and quickly towelled off. Mostly dry, Richter rushed across his small apartment to retrieve the abandoned phone from the kitchen counter. It was still ringing. “Richter here,” he answered. 

From the phone he could hear the commissioner’s voice; uncharacteristically, the voice was shaking, like the commissioner was nervous about something. “You’ll need to get to UMC headquarters as soon as possible. You’ll be briefed when you arrive.”

“Level with me, what’s going on, chief?”

There was a pause on the other side of the line. “Can’t say over the phone, just get to the UMC HQ, it’s urgent.” 

The call terminated with a click, leaving a naked Richter standing in his kitchen, an occasional drip of water falling onto the tiled floor. “Well shit, so much for having a day off.”

Richter made his way back to his bedroom, set a timer and tossed his phone onto the bed. From piles of identical, immaculately pressed dress shirts and trousers, he collected clothes and changed. It had been 185 seconds since the call, and already he was looking prim and proper in his Detective-Inspector uniform. All that remained was grabbing his phone, keys and wallet before he was out the door, 217 seconds after the call had terminated. 

Richter got into his force-assigned vehicle, and punched in the transportation nexus as his destination, setting the priority to emergency mode. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the outside of his vehicle as it sped off in the direction of the transportation nexus. The commissioner hadn’t actually said it was an emergency, but since he was being called in on his day off it damn well better be.

As the vehicle whisked him toward his destination, he flicked the newsfeed on, filling the car with crystal clear audio. Richter hated going into a situation blind, and if something serious was going on at UMC headquarters the vultures on the news would already be all over it.  

“Anna Deleane reporting for United News Inc. Since early this morning, we have been receiving numerous reports of serious incidents that appear to be caused by bad luck. In the last hour alone, there have been over ten thousand reported incidents. These incidents have raised questions about potential problems with the UMC’s signature luck redistribution project. A spokesperson from the UMC has declined to comment on the issue. The luck redistribution project went live 4 years ago ...” 

Richter tuned out the news as she proceeded to babble. Scratching his chin, he noticed his hand unpleasantly grating against his stubble. Damn, he hadn’t even had a chance to shave. Still, the luck redistribution project had been a major achievement of the UMC government. If it had been sabotaged he was damn sure the brass would want him, their best detective, working on the case. 

“...when the UMC voted to collect all the good luck in Committee-controlled universes and redistribute it equally to all UMC citizens. Since the establishment of the luck redistribution system, there have been no serious hiccups. However, the cases of bad luck being reported today have some people wondering if the entire project was a mistake. Here to answer our questions about the luck redistribution project is senior scientist, Dr. Tadra Alandra. Thanks for joining us, Dr. Alandra.”

“Thanks for having me, Anna.”

Richter scoffed. A female head scientist, no wonder there were problems. Still, he’d keep listening; everything she said about the project would give him a better idea of what sort of situation he was walking into.

“Dr. Alandra, in response to the ongoing spike of bad luck, some groups have called for the shut down of the luck redistribution project. What would you say to those people?”

“Thanks for your question, I would really want to emphasize the amazing things the project has done for society. Every year since the project was initiated, we have see growth in egalitarian sentiments among UMC citizens. That’s something I’m really proud to have been a part of. The project was and is unprecedented in scope and utopian in vision. I believe the luck redistribution project is leading us towards a better future.”

“That was a wonderful answer, doctor. My next question is, based on your knowledge of the project could you explain why we might be experiencing increased numbers of bad luck events.”

“The project doesn’t affect the temporal distribution of luck, so a spike in bad luck events could be a stochastic event.”

“Could you simplify that a little bit for our listeners?”

“Oh, sure. Imagine each person gets a lifetime pool of luck. Everyone has the same size of pool, but when they experience that luck is random. A sudden spike in bad luck events, like we’re seeing today, could simply be a one in a billion coincidence.”

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“That sounds unlikely.”

“That is the nature of probability, Anna, improbable events sometimes happen. Fortunagraphy is an exact science, and we’ve already shown in multiple experiments that the redistribution of luck has no impact on its temporal distribution. The only other possibility I can think of is if the UMC activated the emergency luck recall system. If they did so, all the fortune in the universe would be gathered at the project site for future redistribution. In the science of Fortunagraphy, we describe luck a little differently than colloquial depictions. There is no good luck and bad luck, simply luck and its absence. Thus if all the luck was recalled, in its absence we’d expect there to be sudden spike in, so called, bad luck.”

“Very informative, Dr. Alandra, well that’s all the time we have, next up....”

Richter switched off the newscast. That emergency luck recall sounded like a weak point in the design. If he was a criminal that’d be his target. He was beginning to think this might an interesting case.

As his vehicle arrived at the massive transportation nexus building, Richter whistled in appreciation. He never tired of seeing the transportation nexus. The quartet of massive gates rose into the sky, brutalist monuments of crystal and metal to man’s domination over the forces of the universe. The energies that crackled through each gate shifted and fluxed as people passed through them. 

 Richter’s vehicle was quickly whisked into the high priority queue out of deference to its emergency setting. The standard queues really weren’t that long. Inter-multiverse travel was tightly regulated which kept traffic light, but Richter didn’t feel like waiting through the line. It was supposed to be his day off after all. 

It took a couple minutes to get from the outskirts of the nexus to the front of the priority queue. Richter was a frequent traveller through the nexus, often hopping from multiverse to multiverse as new cases called for his expert attention. When he reached the front of the queue the guard immediately recognized him. “Where are you off to today, Detective-Inspector?” 

“I’m headed into central. Force summoned me for some sort of emergency. Think we could skip the formalities?”

The guard chuckled nervously, knowing he’d been asked to break protocol. “I...uh. I suppose so? But only because it’s you. I’m a huge fan of your work in the force. They say you’ve never let a case go unsolved.”

Richter coughed impatiently as the guard stammered through his praise. The guard flushed, cheeks turning bright red. “Oh, uh... right, go ahead, Detective Richter.”

Without another word, Richter’s vehicle continued along towards the gate. Richter thought the guard seemed a good sort. Competent, if a bit chatty, and didn’t make it any more painful than it had to be. He hoped they were paying him enough.

With a schwip noise, the vehicle was whisked through the gate. Moments later it appeared at the central universe transportation nexus. The trip was recorded, under Richter’s impatient glare, by a paper pusher. Then the vehicle was on its way to UMC headquarters. The whole process had been quick, and mostly painless.

When Richter’s vehicle pulled up outside of UMC headquarters, he knew that was about to change. The wrought iron gates that marked the only entrance into the whole complex were swarming with reporters. There looked to be nearly two thousand of of them. An angry swarm of overly large recording devices and obnoxious questions. A pair of robotic sentries prevented the reporters from entering the complex. In between the sentries, and barely visible beyond the mob, Richter spotted a UMC official fielding questions. Even from his distance, Richter could see the man’s brow was glistening with sweat, and he seemed to be gesticulating frantically. Not exactly a calming image for the reporters. Richter did not envy him that job.

Past the crowd of reporters were the large, carefully tended gardens that surrounded the enormous UMC building. The building itself was constructed of the same crystal and metal combination as the nexus gates. It was kind of poetic; the gates connected all the multiverses and the UMC had united them. Richter liked the building; it looked strong, masculine, orderly and imposing. Everything he wanted from the government. 

Richter stepped out of his vehicle and brandished his UMC Force badge shouting, “Official business, make way.” He then began to push his way through the crowd of reporters. 

The reporters sort of shuffled out of his way, but he still found himself forced to actively push his way through the crowd. Bunch of bloody vultures. He’d hardly made it a few steps through the crowd before a microphone was shoved into his face. “Detective-Inspector Richter, could you comment on your purpose for visiting the UMC Headquarters, is it related to the ongoing string of bad luck?” 

Fuck, he’d been recognized. He turned to face the reporter with a glare that could freeze ice. “No comment.” He batted the microphone out of his face and continued to push on. 

As he continued, he was bombarded with questions, the reporters having sensed a possible lead. “Is it true that this case may be related to the Crimson Crow?” He froze for a second at the unexpected question. The Crimson Crow? He doubted it; the Crow had vanished a year ago, and besides, his crimes were all thefts of valuables. Nothing about today seemed like a heist to him.

“No comment.” He soldiered on, more than half way through the crowd now. 

“Is your presence here an admission that a crime was committed at UMC headquarters?” He almost snorted at that question. No shit Sherlock, why else would I be here? But he managed to maintain his composure. 

“No comment.” 

All of sudden, he could see a bit of a gap in front of him. It was the space around the UMC official, and the gates. Thank fuck. With a final push, he made his way past the last few reporters, batting recorders out of his face as he went. He presented his badge to the official, and was waved into the compound.

Having survived the gauntlet of reporters and made his way to the inner courtyard, Richter’s gaze focused on his destination. His heart sunk at who he saw awaiting him. At the top of the stairs, next to the doors to UMC headquarters, was the person he wanted to see least in the entire world. The second best detective in the force, Detective-Inspector Olivia Jones. She fixed him with an unimpressed look as she waved a file in his direction. “You’re late, Rick, here, brief yourself.” 

She had called him Rick. He hated when she called him Rick.