Thomas Crown, was walking through the streets of New York in his old age. It was a quiet morning, you could hear the waves of the Hudson smash against the rocks, as he continued his stroll. Thomas liked his morning runs/walks. It gave him some alone time, to think through his day. To figure out, how he was going to handle his daily business matters. Also, gave him some serenity as he made his decisions with some clarity and calm. This walk was perhaps the more reflecting and relaxing part of his day. Minus his cup of scotch and cigar at night. However, this morning wasn't going to be the same. All fo the sudden. He heard doors smash open and gangsters and button men run towards the street, just south of him. He could hear them screaming. "He's Here! He's HERE! HE'S HERE! The RAT is here". Now, being a man that grew up in the city of New York, he started looking at the pavement. He thought, maybe the subway was being cleaned for the first time in 3 decades. But, to his surprise. That wasn't it. Before you know it. Gun fire started coming from that street. One shot after another, with an ever so joyous arousal from someone "Got the Bum". Thomas, not really bothered by gun fire very much. Walked his way over to the street. At this point, quite some shots had been fired. He drew his gun and made his turn into the street with caution.

And as he looked down the street. He see's all these aspiring marksmen, reloading and shooting. With the sweet noise of the bullet shells hitting the floor. It was almost like a symphony, when the proverbial RAT would show. Hundreds of bullets would hit the pavement, all in a matter of seconds. As Thomas kicked back and watched this. He noticed, some marksmen were better at this than others. Some could barely get a few shots off. Others found their shots being blocked in the chamber on multiple occasions. He noticed one young mobster, struggling as such. He walked over. 

Let me see that weapon son. Let me show you how this works. Thomas took the pistol, pulled back the hammer and shot the next RAT down. Efficiency was the name of the game. No bullets wasted, no rhythm out of tune. He hands the pistol back over to the mobster. Noticing the notches on the guys weapon. Gave the mobster a tap on the back and watched as this continued. After seeing a bit of it. He waited till the RAT was gone. Or RAT's in this case and walked up a few stairs on the brownstone, he was standing next to. And started to speak. 

Good job there, guys and gals. Marksmen and women of all ages. It is indeed a nice sight to see, so much of you out here. See, what you guys just went through now is called racing. Or at least thats what they called it in the olden days, from previous journals. The art was almost at the brink of extinction really. Ive read some articles in the library of Don Dick, that spoke about marksmen flying around the country, looking for inactives. Men and women, that were falling out of favor in La Cosa Nostra. However, with the arrival of this new found MIA's and team Durden. Most, were almost forgetting where this trade actually began. There was a point not long ago. That, someone that had no interest in the trade or passion for it. Could be considered a valid marksman, just cause they could afford to practice strictly from the family of Tyler and the so called MIA's. The days, of chasing inactives, was simply dying out. 

Thomas removed his hat, then fixing his hair. Puts it back on. Pulling out a cigar and lighting it, before taking a deep puff of it. 

Its nice! Its nice, to see the art making a comeback of sorts. Its nice to see the younger generation, benefiting from and learning the old art. There was a point the art was almost dead, and the profession flourishing. The RAT in the most ironic of ways, has breath new life into the art of hitting. At a time, when the profession seems to be at its easiest. 

Thomas cleared this throat. Had a swig of his whiskey. As he raised his flask. 

To a much needed rebirth & renaissance. 

Tipped his hat, to the on looking listeners and took his leave smiling.