"Utopian Assassin"

Life's easy. For ordinary people. You do something good, you get money in up to 7 days processing time plus postal service delays. You make someone happy, you get money in up to 7 days processing time plus postal service delays. You get the idea. Here's another simple-to-get idea: the better the thing you do, or the happier you make someone the more money you get (in up to 7 days processing time plus postal service delays). I met one of the guys that make the formulas for payout calculations, they're crazy, lemme tell ya. The whole money-for-good-stuff business reflected positively on human happiness and economical growth in the last couple of years, all more the reason to rejoice, right?

Locally, yes. Globally, not quite. You see, the whole utopian government business works on a medium scale, but doesn't quite scale up to the level of the whole continent. Also, the system doesn't actually punish bad behaviour, so, naturally, people have taken to exploiting it. How to exploit the system? Keep slaves and sometimes don't beat them! Magnificent. Fucking. Job. Extraordinary, utopian government.

That's where I come in. I'm an official governmental assassin. That means that not only do I get to murder people and get paid for it, which is pretty sick, but I also work for the government so I need not worry about the bodies. The guy that was keeping slaves? Fucking slaughtered, thanks to our utopian government law enforcement's demographics department. Maybe you're not as bad, utopian government. The downside is I legally can't claim happiness money for killing people that were causing dishappiness, much like a detective can't claim money for bringing a sought fugutive to justice.

So, one day I'm woken up by a courier ringing at my door.
"Comiiiiiiiiiing!" I yelled to get him off the damned bell.
"Sir, there's a delivery for you. You need to sign here and here." He gestured at dotted areas as I started to read the delivery bill.
"This can't be right..." I muttered to myself. "A'ight, thanks, mate. Dump it there." I gestured over in the general direction of the old German bunker I had cleaned up in my back yard.

Yawning and examining the delivery bill closer, I stumbled back in. Three hundred thousand dollars. In fifty-cent coins. From the government. Labeled "happiness money". Couldn't be right. I failed to recall any recent non-government-contracted murders of this magnitude, so I called my handler (of course I have a handler).
"Yo, I just got a delivery of three hundred thousand dollars in halves." I started, still perplexed.
"So what's the problem?"
"It's labeled 'happiness money' and I haven't done any off-the-books contracts recently."
"You know well and good that we have no knowledge as to the cause. And I checked that transfer personally, it's correct."
"Righty ho'..." I tried to end the conversation, but I got interrupted.
"You should turn on the news."
And so I did. "Recent reports suggest that the leader of the communist Cuba was assassinated yesterday and the people have started a coup."
"I guess they'll be able to overthrow the government, but how does that factor into..."
"Think! Who killed the guy?"
"I did, and you know that. But I can't receive happiness money for that because you, as in the government, contracted it."
*Slapping sound.* "Oh god, I just remembered."
"Did you just facepalm in real life?"
"Yes. But I remembered why you got that money."
"The legislation says you can't collect happiness money resulting from your governmental contracts in the country."
"Well, that's an oversight, right?"
"Yep, I'll take it up with the higher-ups. But for now, enjoy your new-found wealth."
"A'ight, see ya, mate."

Life's easy. Now for Cubans and me, too.

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