The gun, ofcourse, took no notice of the bright clothes or the thug in them. It went past whooshing its metal around, and scaring cats. They loved to look that way anyway, that stretched, totally messed up electrocuted look that cats loved to look like. Its like their joke on the things that think they've scared them and feel smug for it.
The thug, now comfortable with the whoosh of the gun, approached it in small steps. So it doesn't scare the trigger into a pull. That would be bad for the cat. The one on the crosshair then. It was the thug's cat.
As this little game of the gun and the cat and the thug went on, there sat on the top of the building, a flowing shiny figure of a worked-up, but calm, body covered in the blackest night. It saw the little game with great interest. It wanted the thug, before the gun got it.
In the nanosecond that passed between when the thug caught hold of the gun, too smug and content at keeping the cat scared, which was doing it so its master could get the gun, and when the cat suddenly made that gotcha face that annoyed the gun greatly enough to flick the trigger in anger, what happened was extremely quick and blurred, as seen by the shiny figure watching from above. What happened was that the gun let out a bullet, but the thug forceful grab moved it away from the cat, and the gunshot hit the shiny figure.
The cat brought its teeth out in an excited smile, and the shiny figure fell with a thud.