Chapter 164: The Base Organization, Totally Absurd

Chapter 164: Chapter 164: The Base Organization, Totally Absurd

So she’s still just an ordinary member...

If she’d known she could win the base championship, would she have gone to all that trouble?

Renee Morgan silently grumbled to herself, following behind the base staff and taking the elevator up.

Unlike their training dormitory, this building was saturated with a strong sense of technology everywhere, echoing the moment the instructor had led them into the base, unlocking the doors with iris scan.

The elevator ascended all the way to the top floor, stopped, she exited, walked through a corridor, and stopped at the entrance of something like an office hall. The glass door vanished instantly before her, and the staff member raised a hand to signal her to enter.

Two rows of Black bodyguards stood inside the hall. Their aura wasn’t aggressive like hired thugs, more like everyday security guards on duty.

As she entered, their gaze wasn’t condescending; instead, like greeting a new boss, they nodded politely.

Renee Morgan, fearless as a newborn calf, wasn’t intimidated in the slightest by the scene before her. After replying politely, she glanced at the group sitting in the meeting room.

They all had foreign faces, aged over fifty, and those deep-set eyes looked at her with surprise.

"I knew she was young, but I didn’t expect this young—truly unbelievable." The man in the middle turned to the men beside him, stood from his chair, and walked toward her.

He reached out a hand and introduced himself: "Hello, I am one of the base administrators. Congratulations on your promotion to Senior Member, and welcome to our base organization."

Renee Morgan shook his hand, briefly introduced herself: "Hello, I’m Renee Morgan from Country Z. It’s an honor to join this big family."

The man smiled, a hint of meaning in his deep eyes: "You’re the first person from Country Z to make it in here. Quite impressive."

Renee Morgan smiled: "Country Z is a vast nation—I’m just an ordinary person among billions. Getting in was pure chance and luck."

"..."

The administrator registered her DNA and iris scan, then handed her a stack of documents, with three spots to sign her name.

Everything was in English; Renee Morgan grasped the gist. There were confidentiality agreements, plus documents about the base’s arrangements with various countries and forces. She needed to sign and abide by these agreements together with the base and all countries.

Renee Morgan flipped to the last page. It described the mission of Senior Members—the base served many purposes, but the most important was for all mankind.

"..." Utterly absurd.

No issues. Renee Morgan picked up the pen and signed her name.

The Z characters stood out strikingly against the English paper—her brushstrokes bold and firm, each line full of character.

The administrator took the contract, scanned an electronic version, then handed her a box and said: "The paper contract will be kept at the base, the electronic version stored inside—feel free to review it anytime. If you need help with anything, contact us, we’ll always assist you."

’Joining’ as a Senior Member was remarkably simple—Renee Morgan signed the contract, took the stuff, and went downstairs.

The instructor was still waiting for her downstairs, just as expected.

Renee Morgan walked over carrying the box. The instructor glanced at her things, but didn’t show much interest, just reminded her: "Keep those safe."

Renee Morgan nodded: "Yes, Instructor."

The competition was over, and the program livestream had gathered everyone. Amid cheers, it came to an end.

The next day, after lunch, they’d be heading home.

The squad leader had notified them early; everyone packed up quickly. After lunch, they hugged Zayed goodbye. That will be aired as a short clip—the whole show coming to a clean finish, with a beginning and an end.

After Noon, everyone grabbed their luggage and gathered at the assembly point.

Shooting finished; everyone changed back to their own clothes.

Renee Morgan hadn’t brought many outfits—she picked her only dress, a sky-blue strappy maxi with cloud patterns. Her once-fair skin had tanned to a bronze shade—less ethereal, more bright and sensual.

Zara Chapman showed up fashionably late, wearing a sleek, knee-length dress with minimalist lines, the logo of some big brand conspicuously flashy.

Among all these people, she only greeted Miles Yates, then took her place beside him, occasionally leaning over to chat. The smile on her face radiated an air of extreme self-importance.

Renee Morgan withdrew her gaze indifferently. Lynn Miller was already draped across her shoulder, whispering: "Big star, huh, so impressive."

They returned home just as they’d come—by car to the airport, private jet back.

The private jet waited in its dedicated spot at the airport.

Once everyone arrived, they loaded up and the car drove them out of the base to the airport.

Only, as soon as the group reached the airport, they ran into trouble.

Living in peaceful times, they’d never seen anything like this—the whole airport heavily guarded, weapons in hand, their stares icy cold.

Renee Morgan and the group were corralled in the middle. After confirming their identities, they were signaled into the airport hall.

Everyone looked, visibly panicked, to the instructor at the front.

Even the instructor hadn’t expected an incident at Merrick airport—after calming everyone, he took out his badge and tried reasoning with the guards.

The guards only replied coldly, stating they took orders from above.

Director Prescott tried calling the police, but the guards said there would be no response today.

"..."

Prescott hung up, everyone exchanged anxious glances, faintly aware this was serious.

"Prescott, what do we do now? If we’re held up, are we stuck?" Zara Chapman called out in panic.

The director looked frazzled: "Alright, alright, stop yelling. I don’t know what’s going on either."

Zara Chapman tried to protest, but Miles Yates spoke up: "The instructor will get us home safe—we need to trust him."

Miles Yates invoked the instructor, and Zara Chapman could only bite back her temper, muttering miserably: "Just our luck..."

Shouldn’t have taken this gig. The money wasn’t much, just endless hassle—troublesome events, troublesome people. Ugh.

The group was forcibly herded into an airport lounge. The instructor dialed his superior.

They heard the call with their own ears, and their nerves eased a little.

Before the instructor’s reinforcements arrived, the lounge door swung open.

The leader strode in, surrounded by others. He was fully armed, hands gripping a chilling firearm across his chest.

His eyes—colder than the hardware he carried—swept over their faces, finally landing on Renee Morgan.

"Are you Renee Morgan?" His tone sounded more like verification than a question.