Copper_mask

Exo-Armor donning Fighters, the pinnacle of humankind, are the main fighting force of human societies who are genetically modified to attain extraordinary abilities. To become these warriors is the lifelong dream of every passionate young man in this interstellar age.
 
 But not for - Crey Morgan, A lazy student who is forced to seek entrance into one of Earth's best military academies to become an Exo-Warrior. But his dubious past and lethargic personality don't quite match the ideals of the academy.
    
Crey is not a normal young man, apparent from his weird personality and seemingly extraordinary fighting capabilities. The secret is that he is an assassin who had walked out of the darkest society towards the world in light. An Assassin of the past who wants to leave his horrible history behind.
 
Would Crey be able to gain admission into Terra Military college to become an Ex-warrior as his Uncle wanted? Or his listless attitude will spell trouble where ever he goes.
 
Also, Crey thought he would be the top gun here due to his uncharacteristic past but his hopes shattered as soon as he took an entrance exam. The seemingly best military academy is not built on boastful claims and every character here has thier brilliance and if he had to survive he had to do more than his best.


P.S- the cover art is not mine, The credit and copyright go to Wojciech Wilk. If you have any problems, you can contact me through comments.

Update Rate - 1chap/day

2760:Evolution

"It's like that here! If you want to buy, then pay up Tins or move away. Don't disturb my customers."

Crey had an odd expression on his face as he walked out of the random shop after getting scolded by the shopkeeper. They were selling things but had no intention of revealing where they outsource such items.

Moreover, the currency of FED coins was not very popular here, instead, the local planetary currency 'Tins' seemed to be more prominent and widely used. If you don't have Tins, then surely it is going to be a pain in as* to navigate this city by yourself.

Not so interestingly, Crey had neither dollars nor FED coins and thus could only digest the scolding meekly. Also because he had no watch or identity too. He was just a shell of a man whose clothes were his last assets in the name of the property. That too has been gifted to him by Allan Trumann's 'Sparta' parcel to help him blend in.

'At least I got a taste of things!'

A tale of two gangs