Being executed isn’t everything.

I do it about once a week, normally as a stand in for some wimp of a guy who can’t face his own death sentence.

It’s easy really, blam, slam, thank you ma’am is how they do it.

They shoot you with a low calibre bullet, slam you in the clone tank, then the buxom, and rather delicious looking, tech gives you the okay to get up and live again.

With a free brain refresh to boot.

Works for most people. The victim’s family see the killer get his just desserts, the victim, if they manage to reconstitute them in time, gets his or her revenge and the law is satisfied cos some meat has been slammed in the head with a chunk of lead. The real killer, we can’t let him back in society, spends the rest of his life in a luxury, solitary confinement solar satellite. Well, until it crashes into the sun.

It’s the easiest million dollars in the world every week, give or take a moment of pain, and that’s numbed with novacaine before they shoot.

All’s well that ends well, eh?

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