Happy to be out of the vicinity of the alley, Martin stared at the semi-automatic gun during the car ride to the police station. It was the same pistol- the gold piece covering the top half of the barrel and the muzzle confirmed it. After close examination, he was positive that it was a GSh-18. In the alleyway, the rest of the team took pictures and placed specific objects in small baggies, making sure to use great care as to not mar the condition of those objects. They also took swabs of the blood and multiple surfaces in the street.

Martin got nervous as they arrived at the station. He hadn't been there in so long it felt like he was returning to an old chapter of his life. He felt surprisingly uncomfortable and shy as he followed his friends through the labyrinth of grey-colored corridors and offices that he used to meander through every day. They found undisturbed fingerprints on the gun so they were scanned.

While they were waiting for the results of the person's identity, Martin decided to just start driving. He didn't know where to go or what to do. The waiting was killing him though, and he felt like he was just in limbo. The past three days had been so exhausting he felt like curling up in a ball and falling asleep. But at the same time, he knew that he couldn't. His dreams would be haunted by that horrible, horrible memory that he just wanted to go away, though he knew that no matter how hard he tried, it would never disappear. So here he was, on the I-5, driving to nowhere, with every second feeling like an hour. How messed up had he become?

He pulled over and decided to call Frasier. He needed to hear how Niles was doing.


"Hey, Fras."

"Hi Dad."

"How is he?"

"He's fine, the same as he was when you left."


"You got any more evidence?"

"Yeah. Like I told you, it wasn't the guy who we expected. But, I found the gun and they're scanning it now."

"Well, that was lucky. Call me when you know more."

"I will. Thanks Frasier. Bye."


Martin sighed as he hung up. He decided to go to the Elliot Bay Towers. He realized that, even just for a second, he needed to relax in his comfortable recliner chair, watch his favorite TV shows, and pretend that nothing bad ever happened.

He parked his car in the dark parking garage that had a dismal feeling to it. Before opening the door, though, Martin laid his head back on the headrest. Immediately his eyelids drooped and his body seemed to beg for some form of rest.

Well, who knew? He thought. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep, but being awake for 72 hours straight really does take a toll, doesn't it?

His phone's annoying ringtone woke him from his slumber. After the few seconds it took to bring himself back to reality, he answered it.


"Hey Marty."

"Hank, whaddya got?"

At the police station, they were staring at the results with pure bewilderment and confusion on their faces.

"How… could this be?" Jim asked, peering at the papers.

"Let me look at it," a burly man with messy gray hair ordered. He snatched the papers away from Hank.

"Woah…" Was the man's first response as he flipped through the papers. "If this is the guy, we've got a real case on our hands."

"This can't be real though," another man said incredulously. "Let me see."

"No, let me see!"

"I've gotta see this!"

The seven men in the room fought for the papers that held such shocking information.

They had put Martin on speakerphone so he had heard the whole conversation-and heard them fighting.

"Guys, stop!" He shouted, and his voice, distorted by the telephone, silenced them all. "What does it say?"

"Well, it says that the guy is… not from America."

"This has gotta be wrong, right?" Hank asked. But Martin was silent. "Right? Marty?"

"I'm not sure, I'll call you back in a bit," a quiet voice answered.

Martin hung up, while the rest of the team stared at each other, confused.

Meanwhile, Martin sped out of the car as fast as he could, not even stopping to say hello to the doorman as he rushed into the elevator. He jabbed at the button that sent the small compartment flying to the 19th floor, retrieving his key while waiting for the doors to open. When they finally did, he practically ran into his apartment after jabbing the key in the doorknob ten times before finally busting it open. Martin then went to Frasier's bedroom, and, after a bit of searching, found his laptop. He then raced back to the living room, where he set it on the glass table and opened it up. He clicked on the google search engine app after it loaded to the home screen, and typed in the type of pistol into the search bar. When he pushed "enter", the results astonished him.

It read:


TYPE: 9mm semi-automatic pistol

But his eyes drifted down to the "Users" column.



-Armed Forces of the Russian Federation

-Internal Troops

-Ministry of Justice

-Ministry of Internal Affairs

-Law Enforcement in Russia

Perfect, he thought. Martin sighed. So most likely, this guy is a Russian diplomat of some sort.

Just perfect.

A/N: I'd just like to thank Wikipedia for the info about the gun, and, about Russian guns in general lol. Also, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed so far! I really appreciate that you guys go out of your way to do that, and it really encourages me and helps me keep writing, as well as brighten my day as a whole! As we venture into "Act 2" of this story, pls consider reviewing if you haven't, I really enjoy hearing what you guys think! I hope you've enjoyed so far!