Dick Richards

I've been out of shits to give for so long I don't even remember what they smell like. Still, one mistake later and I'm trapped on a dead magic world with no future. I won't either if I don't find a way out. Xenophobia, ancient cities crumbling under broken domes, endless wind intent on scouring the planet clean, and no one who remembers how to use what technology is left. This civilization is dying and the rumors of war are just more whispers from a hungry void. I might have to choose sides to survive, but what's one more tomb in a universe of graveyards? Everything dies. I just need to keep reminding myself these aren't my problems. Some people compare me to Harry Harrison's Stainless Steel Rat or Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden. At least one AI thinks I'm like Tom Rob Smith's Child 44. One Tom, one Dick and two-and-a-half Harrys. The after-school special damn near writes itself. But do you really need someone you've never met to tell you what to think? Buy or don't. I've got better things to do than babysit.