Author's Note: I enjoy thinking of what ifs, and this story is a result of one. Note to all, if you haven't watched The Raven Chaser, first, I would highly recommend it, in my opinion it is the best Detective Conan movie to be produced, and second, this will almost definitely spoil it. So if you're the type of person who dislikes spoiling movies or books, you'd do better to watch the movie before reading anything past this note.

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Conan was thrown against the wall by Irish once again. His cheek was bleeding already from the last time and Conan winced terribly. He panted as he looked at Matsumoto, no, Irish through one eye. Irish walked towards him, smiling slightly as if he knew that the boy in front of him had no escape and was at his absolute mercy. Grabbing Conan by his collar, Irish threw Conan towards the wall nearest the staircase.

Despite his intentions, Conan cried out in pain. Faintly, he heard footsteps. No, Conan thought as he struggled to keep himself awake. Don't come. Please don't come. Don't…

The staircase door burst open with Ran and another man hot at her heels. "Conan-kun!" she cried upon sighting the young boy, collapsed next to a water machine with many bruises and cuts. Ran rushed over to him. "Are you all right?"

"N...n...no, R...Ran, g...go, d...don't…" Conan said weakly.

"Are you guys all right?" Matsumoto appeared. Ran stood up and looked at the police officer. "Keiji-san, it's not good, all the officers have passed out!"

Matsumoto nodded. "I know. They were attacked by the perp (A/N: I wasn't sure how to put it here, so I used the CIA version of killer or criminal, which is perp. Also note that vic stands for victim)."

Conan reached over with all the strength he had and grabbed Ran's leg. "N...no, R...Ran, h...he…" but that was the farthest Conan got. The man who had followed Ran fell to the floor with a loud thud and the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded came behind Ran.

Slowly, Ran turned around, eyes narrowed and faced Matsumoto. "You're not Matsumoto-keiji," she declared, facing the gun bravely.

"Don't," Conan muttered. He wasn't sitting anymore and was, rather, in more of a squatting position, one leg up with a hand on the knee and his other hand supporting the rest of his body.

"It's ok," Ran whispered, almost to herself.

Ran's memory whirled back to the day Shinichi had disappeared.

"Hey, Ran," Shinichi said as the two casually walked in Tropical Land, "did you know that a bullet shot by a rifle can go a thousand meters in a second? A pistol goes only a third of that speed, about 350 meters per second."

A small, small smile came upon Ran's face. Matsumoto noticed. "Why are you smiling? Do you think you can dodge a bullet?" he taunted.

"Yes."

Matsumoto smiled. "Interesting. Well, how about we test it?"

With that, Matsumoto fired and a bullet aiming for death shot towards Ran.

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"Ran! Stay there! Don't get up! I'll handle the rest!" Conan shouted through his bow-tie in Shinichi's voice.

Ran obeyed, resting her well-beaten head back onto her arms in full confidence that the 'detective freak' would conclude the entire case.

Matsumoto smiled and ripped off his mask. "Well this just makes it more interesting," he said, throwing the jacket off as he walked, revealing a black shirt underneath. "Run, run," he said confidently as he followed the footsteps of Conan. Reloading his pistol, he took careful aim at four points of the only way out in the hall he had come to, a door. Grinning, he released fire.

The door swung open slowly and Irish was displeased to see that the kid hadn't been hiding behind the door. No matter, he had a gun and therefore the upper hand, even the high school detective Kudo Shinichi didn't stand a chance.

Suddenly, a high speed soccer ball came rushing at him and knocked the flashlight out of Irish's hand.

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Damn! Conan thought as he saw the flashlight go flying. He had been aiming for the pistol, but apparently had been inaccurate. Quickly, he lowered his hands to his belt. One more shot, that was all it would take…

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang and Conan's belt crackled with electricity. It was broken–there was no possibility of doing anything. Grimacing, Conan reached down to touch the power-enhancing shoes, but another shot sounded and that was left ruined.

"What is it?" Irish taunted as he closed in on Conan. "Out of tricks?" He shot the wall right next to Conan.

Conan grimaced and dodged to the side, knowing it was his only hope.

"Yes, exactly like that," Irish crowed.

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Conan ran up a set of stairs, narrowly dodging a bullet. "Aw, c'mon," Irish said, moving up the stairs slowly. "Let's stop this game of tag…"

Conan leaped from the staircase, much to Irish's surprise, and he kicked the taller into the stomach. Irish fell and his pistol clattered out of his hand. Conan landed on his feet and picked up the pistol, aiming at Irish. "The scales…" he panted, though feeling slightly more optimistic, "has been changed. Give me the memory card."

Irish grinned.

The lights suddenly turned off.

Conan was distracted as a helicopter came into view, shining its bright spotlight on the two. Irish made use of this and lunged at Conan, snatched the gun away, and put his hands on Conan's throat and pushed Conan towards the ground. The boy was unable to move or speak, and with a gun pointed at his forehead, was unlikely to try anything rash.

"The scales have been changed," Irish said, using the words Conan had said only moments before.

Irish's phone rang and he picked it up. "This is Gin," a voice came through. "Do you have the memory chip?"

"Yes." Irish fished it out of his pocket and showed it to Gin.

Conan, who Irish had released when the phone rang, was panting heavily. He could almost hear Gin grin wickedly, and he knew that the end was near, that he would be handed over to the Boss of the Organization, that every single person who knew his identity would be hunted down and killed.

"Get in," Gin said, and precisely as he said it, the door of the helicopter opened.

"Wait," Irish said into the phone. "I have a guest for us all." He turned back to Conan and seized him by the collar roughly. Conan struggled desperately, but to no avail. Irish climbed in, clutching Conan tightly, and Conan had one last look at freedom before the helicopter door slammed close.

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"So, Irish, who exactly is this special guest?" Gin asked, looking questioningly at Conan, who at this time had been bound and gagged. "He seems a bit young to be caught up in the Organization."

"What business is it of yours?" Irish asked, relaxing on the seat behind Vodka. "I got him for the Boss, have to keep him alive as a witness, or perhaps victim."

"What's his name?" Gin persisted, eyeing Conan, who was still struggling and glaring at the three Black Organization members. "I still don't see what he has to do with us. You do know that the more people we take hostage, the more likely we will be to be discovered, right?" Gin frowned. "Though, to think of it, he looks somewhat familiar, have we seen him before?"

"Figure it out for yourself, Gin," Irish said lazily. "Would it be more obvious if the glasses weren't there? It's part of his cover, you know."

Without answering, Gin reached over towards Conan, who was trying desperately to keep out of reach. Gin tore off Conan's glasses and tossed them out of the helicopter and stared into the boy's face.

"I still don't recognize him," Gin muttered, regarding Conan carefully. "But, he does look like somebody I killed. Still...I don't believe I've ever tried to murder a kid, excluding those times when I set off explosives…"

"I'm not surprised you don't recognize him," Irish smirked. "He looks different from before, even I doubted that he was that guy, until I examined his fingerprints…"

Gin took out a pistol and pointed it at Irish. "Who is this guy?" he asked, gesturing towards Conan. "Tell me, if you value your life in any way or form."

Irish looked calmly at the gun and then glanced at Conan, who was shaking his head, hoping that Irish wouldn't reveal his secret.

"I'd absolutely love to tell you…" Conan's face was of pure horror "...but I have orders from the Boss that prevent me," Irish stared at the gun that Gin was pointing at him. "So shoot me, Gin, if you want to, but unfortunately you aren't Vermouth and I doubt that Boss will be happy if you murder me before I can complete his task."

"Fine," Gin put the pistol away. "Fine. If the Boss says so, then fine. Put the boy to sleep though. I don't want him learning anymore than he has to."

Before Conan could react, the stench of chloroform sealed his nose and he blacked out.

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Author's Note: I hope that you enjoyed the chapter! Please send me a review, even if it's only two words. In your review, please tell me if I should continue or not! Feel free to criticize!