An angled panning shot, set on a [muddy, rain-soaked street in the heart of a de
![An angled panning shot, set on a [muddy, rain-soaked street in the heart of a decaying Old West village], captures [Jack Crowley and Dalton Jeremiah Cross], two seasoned gunslingers.
Both are leaving the saloon as the rain pours down, pelting the ground and running down the wooden buildings. On one of the porches, an old man rocks in his rocking chair.
Dalton Jeremiah Cross, a weather-beaten man in a worn leather coat, his boots sinking into the mud with every step, holds an 1873 ivory nickel in his holster. Dutch, dressed in impeccable dark attire, his hat tilted to partially cover his shrewd eyes, also holds an 1873 ivory nickel in his holster.
The two men stare at each other in silence, their silhouettes highlighted by the flashes of lightning that illuminate the stormy sky.
They both draw their revolvers at the same time.](https://image.cdn2.seaart.me/2025-04-29/d08hh8te878c73d319k0/f3d1b01e717600ff85ff6c80c6025c65_high.webp)
An angled panning shot, set on a [muddy, rain-soaked street in the heart of a decaying Old West village], captures [Jack Crowley and Dalton Jeremiah Cross], two seasoned gunslingers. Both are leaving the saloon as the rain pours down, pelting the ground and running down the wooden buildings. On one of the porches, an old man rocks in his rocking chair. Dalton Jeremiah Cross, a weather-beaten man in a worn leather coat, his boots sinking into the mud with every step, holds an 1873 ivory nickel in his holster. Dutch, dressed in impeccable dark attire, his hat tilted to partially cover his shrewd eyes, also holds an 1873 ivory nickel in his holster. The two men stare at each other in silence, their silhouettes highlighted by the flashes of lightning that illuminate the stormy sky. They both draw their revolvers at the same time.
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An angled panning shot, set on a [muddy, rain-soaked street in the heart of a decaying Old West village], captures [Jack Crowley and Dalton Jeremiah Cross], two seasoned gunslingers.
Both are leaving the saloon as the rain pours down, pelting the ground and running down the wooden buildings. On one of the porches, an old man rocks in his rocking chair.
Dalton Jeremiah Cross, a weather-beaten man in a worn leather coat, his boots sinking into the mud with every step, holds an 1873 ivory nickel in his holster. Dutch, dressed in impeccable dark attire, his hat tilted to partially cover his shrewd eyes, also holds an 1873 ivory nickel in his holster.
The two men stare at each other in silence, their silhouettes highlighted by the flashes of lightning that illuminate the stormy sky.
They both draw their revolvers at the same time.
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