#gunfight

Crime Alley is too quiet.

Jason doesn’t like that.

It’s the kind of quiet that means people are watching. Waiting. Holding their breath.

For him.

Or—

Jason’s grip tightens on his helmet.

—for the idiot currently standing in the middle of the street, arguing with a broken vending machine.

“…I know you have snacks in there,” the guy says, jabbing a finger at the glass. “Don’t play with me. I can hear them.”

Jason stares.

That’s him.

Danny Fenton.

The so-called “civilian.”

The one who’s been getting shot at for weeks and somehow not dying.

The one Crime Alley refuses to talk about.

The one everyone’s protecting.

The one wearing—

Jason squints.

—is that a NASA hoodie?

Jason has questions.

A lot of questions.

None of them include whatever the hell this is.

“Turn around.”

The words cut clean through the alley.

Danny freezes.

Slowly—slowly—he turns.

His eyes flick up.

Take in the helmet. The stance. The guns.

Recognition flashes.

“Oh,” Danny says.

Beat.

“…crap.”

Jason steps forward, boots heavy against pavement.

“Name.”

Danny blinks.

“Uh… Danny?”

“Last name.”

“…Fenton?”

Jason tilts his head.

Like he’s cataloguing.

Weighing.

Deciding.

“Funny,” he says flatly. “That’s not what people call you around here.”

Danny frowns.

“…What do people call me?”

Jason raises a gun.

Not firing.

Just—there.

A statement.

“Red Hood.”

Danny stares.

Then laughs.

Actually laughs.

“Okay—no. No, that’s—that’s funny. Good joke. Solid delivery. Little threatening, but—”

“I’m not joking.”

Danny stops.

The smile drops.

“…you’re serious.”

Jason doesn’t move.

“Why are you using my name.”

There’s a beat.

A long one.

Danny looks at him.

Then points at himself.

“…your name?”

Jason cocks the gun.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing—what are you talking about??”

“The name. The territory. The pattern.”

Jason steps closer.

“You show up when I do. You take the same fights. You protect the same people.”

Another step.

“You shoot like me.”

Danny looks deeply offended.

“Okay first of all—rude. I shoot better than you, I just don’t brag about it.”

Jason pauses.

That was not the response he expected.

“…you what.”

Danny waves a hand.

“That’s not the point! What do you mean your name?? I’ve never called myself Red Hood in my life!”

Jason goes very still.

“…you expect me to believe that.”

“Yes?? Because it’s true??”

Danny gestures wildly.

“I don’t even have a name thing! I just—exist!”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Well it should be!”

Jason lowers the gun a fraction.

Not enough to be safe.

Enough to be thinking.

“…then why are people treating you like you are.”

Danny opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“…okay, see, that’s been bothering me too.”

Jason stares.

Danny throws his hands up.

“I thought it was, like, a ghost thing! You know—wrong place, wrong time, spooky vibes, maybe I accidentally offended a cult—”

“You’re being targeted by assassins.”

“I noticed!”

“They’re not using anti-meta weapons.”

“I NOTICED THAT TOO!”

Danny points at him accusingly.

“That’s the weird part! Where’s the theme?? Where’s the consistency?? If you’re gonna try to kill me, at least commit to the aesthetic!”

Jason blinks.

Once.

“…the aesthetic.”

“Yes!”

Danny paces now, animated.

“I’m used to ghosts, okay? There’s rules. Drama. Personal vendettas. These guys? Just—bang bang, die. No personality!”

Jason is… re-evaluating.

Everything.

“…you’re telling me,” he says slowly, “you’re not Red Hood.”

“Yes!”

“And you don’t know why people think you are.”

“YES.”

“And you don’t know why you’re being targeted.”

“EXACTLY.”

Jason studies him.

Hard.

The stance.

The breathing.

The eyes.

No flinch.

No fear.

Just frustration.

“…you got shot yesterday,” Jason says.

Danny shrugs.

“Yeah, and? I got better.”

Jason’s grip tightens.

“You what.”

“I mean, not like—” Danny gestures vaguely. “—better better. Just, you know. Walked it off.”

“You walked off a bullet wound.”

“Yeah?”

“…how.”

Danny freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

“…uh.”

Jason steps forward.

Slow.

Dangerous.

“Explain.”

Danny smiles.

Badly.

“Well! You see! Funny story—”

A shot rings out.

Both of them move.

Jason turns, firing twice—precise, controlled.

Danny—

vanishes.

Not ducks.

Not dodges.

Gone.

Jason whips back around.

Nothing.

Then—

“Behind you.”

Jason spins—

Danny’s there.

Completely fine.

No blood.

No wound.

No anything.

Jason stares.

“…you didn’t move.”

“I did.”

“You disappeared.”

Danny winces.

“…define disappeared.”

Jason raises the gun again.

Slower this time.

More careful.

More certain.

“You’re not human.”

Danny exhales.

“…okay, wow, rude.”

“Answer the question.”

Danny hesitates.

Looks at the gun.

Looks at Jason.

Then—

“…I mean,” he says carefully, “define human.”

Jason goes very, very still.

Somewhere in the distance, another gunshot echoes.

Neither of them reacts.

Because suddenly—

These are not stills from showdowns in actual 50s black-and-white Western TV shows. These are images I generated through AI (Venice in the 2nd case, Pixel Bunny in the others). I went so far as to generate whole showdowns in that manner:

"In A Tight Spot"

Farrah Fawcett in Charlie's Angels (1976) The Mexican Connection

S1E2

After the death of a stewardess carrying drugs on her person, her brother, the pilot, enlists the Angels to discover who was behind it. The Angels go undercover to take down the drug ring and discover who murdered the stewardess.