Chapter 8: I Enter Apollo Lunar Module ( One Small Step for Kyle, One Giant Leap for Weirdness )

Rhea and I looked like we'd gone ten rounds with a particularly aggressive washing machine. My clothes were ripped in a couple of places, and I was pretty sure I still had some unidentified bathroom grime clinging to my hair. Rhea, while slightly less disheveled, still had that thousand-yard stare of someone who'd stared down a monster and won (barely).

"The Museum of Hoaxes and Urban Legends," Rhea announced, gesturing to a brightly colored, slightly tacky building with a giant fiberglass jackalope perched precariously on the roof. "Trust me, it's the perfect cover. Nobody expects the real weirdness to be hidden amongst the fake weirdness. You'll see a lot of 'debunked' stuff in here that actually has a kernel of truth to it, thanks to LETI's work keeping things quiet."

We trudged inside, the bell above the door jingling merrily, a stark contrast to the lingering tension in the air. The museum was exactly as advertised: a bizarre collection of blurry photos of Loch Ness ("Definitely not a plesiosaur, probably a rogue water spirit having a bad day," Rhea muttered), supposed alien artifacts encased in dusty glass ("Ninety percent tourist traps, ten percent… well, let's just say some things fall out of the sky"), and a surprisingly detailed diorama of the Mothman terrorizing Point Pleasant ("That one's actually pretty spot on, just don't make eye contact with the diorama for too long"). A few tourists milled around, pointing and chuckling at the exhibits.

Rhea navigated the displays with a determined air, occasionally muttering under her breath about which exhibits had a sliver of truth and which were pure tourist trap fodder.

We finally stopped in front of a surprisingly detailed replica of the Apollo lunar module, complete with a slightly faded American flag and plastic astronaut figures. A nearby plaque loudly proclaimed, "The Greatest Hoax of the 20th Century!"

Rhea rolled her eyes. "Right. Debunked, my left foot. Watch this, newbie."

She approached the lunar module and, ignoring the "Do Not Touch" sign, reached for one of the plastic astronauts. Specifically, the one holding a miniature camera.

"See this 'camera'?" she said, twisting its lens counter-clockwise. "Turns out, it's less about capturing fake moon rocks and more about… opening doors."

With a soft click, a section of the lunar module's base slid inward, revealing a surprisingly well-lit, high-tech corridor. The contrast between the cheesy space exhibit and the sleek interior was jarring.

"Welcome to LETI," Rhea said with a wry grin. "One small step for a newbie, one giant leap into the world of 'things you thought were fake but totally aren't.' Try not to trip over the anti-gravity boots."

Rhea led the way down the sleek corridor, the sudden shift from cheesy tourist trap to high-tech facility making my head spin. The walls were a cool, brushed metal, and soft, ambient lighting illuminated displays of strange gadgets and holographic projections I couldn't even begin to understand.

"So," I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the fact that I felt like I'd just walked onto the set of a sci-fi movie, "this is it? The super-secret headquarters of the League of Extraordinarily Troublesome Individuals?"

Rhea grinned.

"One of the less flashy levels. Trust me, it gets weirder. We need to get you registered. It's mostly paperwork, some basic ability testing, and then you get your official LETI newbie starter kit."

"Starter kit?" I echoed.

"Does it come with a decoder ring and a secret handshake?"

"Something like that," Rhea said with a wink. "Mostly it's just a lot of rules about not revealing classified information to your geometry teacher and a surprisingly comfortable tactical fanny pack."

We reached a set of double doors that slid open silently as we approached, revealing a bustling office space filled with people hunched over computers and whispering into headsets. It looked like a cross between a NASA control room and a particularly well-organized library.

"This is the comms and analysis hub," Rhea explained, guiding me through the organized chaos. "Lots of monitoring for supernatural hotspots and deciphering cryptic prophecies. Don't touch anything."

As we navigated the room, a few people glanced up, offering nods of acknowledgement to Rhea. One older woman with bright purple hair and more rings than fingers gave me a curious once-over.

"New recruit, Rhea?" she called out, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Fresh off the monster," Rhea replied with a grin. "Needs the newbie orientation."

The woman chuckled.

"Well, tell him to try not to break anything. We're still cleaning up after Bartholomew's incident with the self-folding laundry."

Self-folding laundry? Okay, this was definitely going to be more interesting than detention.

Rhea led me to a less crowded corner, where a young man with perpetually tired eyes sat behind a cluttered desk. "This is Ben," she said. "He's in charge of new recruit processing. Try not to bore him with too many questions. He runs on caffeine and sarcasm."

"Hey," Ben mumbled, not looking up from his computer screen. "Another one? The paperwork's in triplicate. And try not to mention the exploding toilets. It's been a long day."

Exploding toilets were apparently a recurring theme. My life was officially weirder than I could have ever imagined.

Ben sighed dramatically as Rhea dropped a crumpled file onto his already overflowing desk. "Oh joy. Another wet-behind-the-ears newbie. Fill these out," he mumbled, sliding a stack of forms towards me. "In triplicate. And try to keep the monster guts off the paperwork. We have standards, you know."

The forms themselves were surprisingly mundane, asking for things like name, address, emergency contact (Mom was going to love being listed as my emergency contact for supernatural emergencies), and any known allergies (dust mites, existential dread, large red goblins). But then came the "Abilities and Affiliations" section.

Under "Known Abilities," there was a long list of things like "Telekinesis," "Elemental Control," "Shapeshifting," and "Precognition." None of which applied to me, unless you counted my uncanny ability to predict when the cafeteria was serving mystery meat. I hesitated, then just shrugged and wrote "Unknown."

The "Affiliations" section was even weirder. It listed things like "Descendant of [Ancient Deity]," "Elemental Conduit," and "Chaos Manifest." I just wrote "Uh… survived a bathroom monster?"

Ben barely glanced at my forms. "Yeah, yeah, 'untapped potential,' 'unique circumstances,' we hear it all the time. Just sign at the bottom of each page. And try not to lick the pen. It's been known to have… residual enchantments."

Next up was the "Basic Ability Assessment." Ben led me to a small, sterile room with a single target dummy in the center. "Alright, newbie," he said, sounding utterly bored. "Show me what you can do. Telekinesis? Blast of pure energy? Summoning mildly annoyed spirits?"

Panic flared. I couldn't exactly whip out my status screen or start allocating stat points. That would definitely land me in the "needs serious observation" wing. Think, Kyle, think. What could I do that looked vaguely supernatural but was just… me?

Focusing, I reached into inventory with my mind. The rusty sword materialized in my hand, the edges looking even more jagged and worn than before. It felt… familiar, somehow, despite having just spontaneously appeared.

Ben blinked, actually looking up from his tablet for the first time. "Huh. A… manifested weapon? Looks like something you'd find in an ancient dumpster." He tapped a few things on his screen. "Weapon quality… questionable. Materialization… instantaneous, if crude. Edge… still concerningly jagged. Alright, congratulations, newbie. Unofficially, you're a Junior Rank F."

"F?" I repeated, my heart sinking. "As in… 'Fantastic'?"

Ben snorted. "As in… 'Figure it out, Failure.' Don't worry, everyone starts somewhere. Here's your tactical fanny pack." He tossed me a surprisingly stylish black fanny pack with more pockets than I thought humanly possible. "It's got the basic LETI-approved monster repellent, a universal translator for grumpy mythical creatures, and a surprisingly effective stain remover for ectoplasmic goo. Try not to lose it."

Rank F = Failure. Well, at least I had a cool fanny pack. This was going to be a long initiation.

"Alright, newbie," Rhea said, grabbing my arm and steering me away from the perpetually unimpressed Ben. "While you contemplate the existential dread of being a Rank F, I actually have to do some work. Agent Thorne wants a full report on our little bathroom adventure."

She led me through another set of automatic doors, this time into a vast, multi-story library. But this wasn't your typical hushed sanctuary of dusty tomes. Books floated on shimmering platforms, holographic displays flickered with arcane symbols, and the air hummed with a low, almost imperceptible energy. People in LETI uniforms were scattered throughout, some reading ancient-looking scrolls, others typing furiously on glowing keyboards.

"This is the LETI archives," Rhea explained, heading towards a quieter corner filled with actual, physical books. "All the intel we've gathered over the centuries. Monster sightings, magical anomalies, prophecies that may or may not involve exploding poultry – the works."

I trailed after her, my gaze sweeping over the incredible collection. My eyes landed on a thick, leather-bound book that seemed to pulse with a faint, inner light. It wasn't glowing brightly, just a subtle thrumming that I could almost feel.

I picked up the book from the shelf, the leather surprisingly warm to the touch. My eyes scanned the cover, a stylized sunburst radiating intense energy and then the title: The Great Sun Internal Energy Manipulation Methods.

Suddenly, a familiar window popped into my vision, complete with a slightly sarcastic, almost bored tone:

[Skill Book Detected: The Great Sun Internal Energy Manipulation Methods]

[Appraisal: A foundational text detailing the volatile and potent 'Great Sun' method of internal energy cultivation. May result in spontaneous combustion of self or nearby flammable objects. Proceed with caution (as if you ever do).]

[Do you wish to learn this skill?]

[Yes] [No (Are you sure? It's free!)]

"Of course, I want to learn," I muttered under my breath, mentally jabbing the [Yes] button.

Poof!

The book vanished in a flash of golden light, leaving behind a tingling sensation that felt like I'd just swallowed a miniature sun.

[New Skill Learned!]

[Great Sun Inner Energy Lv. 1 Acquired!]

"Uhhh… where did it go?" I asked, blinking at the empty space.

Rhea, who had been engrossed in a dusty scroll about banshee mating rituals, looked up, startled.

"What went where?"

"The book! I just touched it, and it… poofed!" I gestured wildly at the empty shelf.

"Am I in trouble…?"

I muttered, still a little woozy from the whole disappearing-book-meets-warm-chest-glow situation. Honestly, I was still trying to figure out if I'd just unlocked a hidden magical achievement or set off the world's nerdiest security alarm.

Then my eyes flicked to the scroll in Rhea's hands. It was covered in illustrations of ghostly figures that were way too enthusiastic for bedtime reading. I squinted. "Wait—are you seriously reading about… banshee mating rituals? Is that standard LETI bedtime reading? Should I be worried?"

Rhea snapped the scroll shut like it had personally offended her.

"Research, newbie," she said, deadpan. "You'd be shocked how much chaos you can avoid by understanding the dating habits of incorporeal screamers. Helps with territory maps and awkward hauntings that start with dinner and end in shattered eardrums."

She gave me a pointed look, the kind that said I am better than you, and I know it.

"Unlike some people, I try to be discreet in the archives."

Cue the sudden arrival of Mrs. Eldrune, the head librarian and part-time wraith. She materialized beside us without a single sound—classic librarian stealth mode—and stared us down like she was deciding which one of us to hex first.

"Discreet?" she echoed, her voice colder than a freezer full of frozen banshee hearts. "You call publicly discussing the romantic escapades of wailing spirits in a tone that echoes across realms discreet, Junior Member?"

Rhea flinched like she'd been smacked with a hardcover encyclopedia.

"My apologies, Mrs. Eldrune. Just enlightening the new recruit on the… diverse literature available."

Mrs. Eldrune's eyes locked on me, and suddenly I felt like a bookmark under a magnifying glass. "And has the new recruit also been enlightened on the importance of not vaporizing library books? Especially ones that, while technically copies, still cost more than your allowance and come with an irreplaceable footnote?"

I grinned sheepishly.

"My deepest apologies, Mrs. Eldrune,"

I stammered, bowing my head like I was addressing a particularly grumpy sphinx.

"My… my innate talent for making ancient texts pull a Houdini is clearly still developing. I promise to keep my hands to myself in the future. Mostly because the thought of more library-related lectures makes my soul weep."

Rhea stifled a snort. Mrs Eldrune just gave me a withering look that promised future library-related torment.

We managed to extricate ourselves from the archives without further incident, Rhea promising to explain the intricacies of supernatural library etiquette later. Once outside the slightly less-tacky glow of the Museum of Hoaxes and Urban Legends, the late afternoon sun felt surprisingly normal.

"Alright, newbie," Rhea said, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the wonderfully weird. I've got to head back in and file that report. You… probably should go home and try to process the fact that your life just took a hard left into 'believe the unbelievable' territory."

"Right," I said, feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

"Thanks for, uh, everything, Rhea."

She nodded.

"Don't mention it. And try not to attract any more interdimensional bathroom monsters on your way home."

We parted ways, Rhea disappearing back into the museum.

I glanced at my mental HUD. Yup...Daily Quest still glaring at me like an unpaid bill. Five kilometers left. My legs felt like overcooked noodles, and my brain was somewhere between scrambled eggs and emotional jelly, but hey—if I had to tackle this stupid quest, now was as good a time as any.

Without another thought, I took off in a slightly wobbly sprint down the street, dodging bewildered tourists and a street performer dressed as a surprisingly convincing Bigfoot.

Rhea, who had just stepped back out to see if I was still standing there in a state of shock, watched me suddenly bolt away. Her eyebrows shot up.

"He's… running?" she muttered to herself, a look of utter confusion on her face. "After everything that just happened? Does he have some kind of… mortal endurance fetish I'm not aware of?" She shook her head.

"That newbie is going to be more trouble than a hydra with a caffeine addiction."