The Syndicate Tunnels were exactly as cold and vast as Julian had feared. The air was heavy with the smell of damp earth and stale oil. They moved along the abandoned mag-lev tracks—the "river of steel"—their headlamps cutting cones of light into the suffocating darkness.
They had been moving for three hours, following the complex schematics Julian (as Eliza) carried on the field phone. His small body adapted easily to the cramped spaces, leaping from rail to rail with the natural grace of an operative. Eliza (as Julian), however, struggled. Her massive, powerful body was built for executive chairs and corporate gyms, not subterranean climbing. Every jump was a heavy thud, and she constantly had to duck Julian's head to avoid scraping the low-hanging structural supports.
The CEO's Complaint
"This is ridiculous," Eliza grumbled, her deep voice muffled by the breathing mask. "This body's center of gravity is all wrong. It's too heavy for this kind of subtle movement. I feel like a drunk elephant trying to walk on tightropes."
Julian, moving effortlessly ahead, turned back and fixed her with a look of pure contempt. "That's my body you're insulting. I managed this body perfectly well for forty years."
"You managed it perfectly well sitting in a high-backed leather chair," Eliza retorted. "It has the physical agility of a luxury yacht. Be quiet and follow the light. You're giving away our position with all that heavy breathing." The constant, sniping arguments were their strange, shared way of coping with the stress.
The False Barrier
They reached the section of the tunnel marked on the schematic as "The Vault Entry." It wasn't a vault door, just a simple, solid wall of freshly poured concrete blocking the passage completely.
Julian stopped short. "The schematics are wrong. This tunnel was sealed off years ago. We can't go through." He was defeated by the physical reality of the concrete barrier.
Eliza, however, didn't panic. Julian's corporate memory—the ruthless mind that thought in terms of cost and construction schedules—kicked in. "Wait," she said, tapping the wall with Julian's heavy knuckle. "The cement is too new. A structural seal would be steel-reinforced, not this weak mix. This isn't a barrier. It's a decoy."
The Pressure Plate
Eliza quickly checked the structural logs on the field phone. She found the entry detailing the maintenance of this section. The logs showed regular power consumption, even though the tunnel was supposed to be sealed.
"It's a pressure-sensitive plate," Eliza explained, her voice now sharp with the thrill of solving a technical problem. "Julian never trusted simple locks. He'd install a pressure trigger that only activates if you know the exact rhythm and weight required."
Julian looked at his own body—the strong, heavy frame Eliza was wearing. "The weight of the CEO," he realized. "It only opens if the pressure matches Julian's weight, or slightly more. This was built to keep everyone out except the original founder."
The Awkward Activation
They needed to apply nearly 250 pounds of pressure in three distinct, rapid pulses. Julian (as Eliza) was too light. Eliza (as Julian) was the right weight, but she couldn't achieve the required speed with the body's clumsiness.
"We have to do it together," Eliza decided. "Julian, you put your weight on the plate. On my count, I will jump up and use my full weight, landing on my toes, three times. The impact will mimic the pulse."
The maneuver was ridiculous. Julian had to stand stiffly against the cold concrete while Eliza climbed onto his back. She wrapped Julian's arms around Julian's neck, the full weight of the powerful CEO body resting precariously on the small operative body.
The Unwanted Embrace
"This is completely unprofessional," Julian hissed into Eliza's neck, his small body straining under the weight. "I can feel every one of your ribs."
"Shut up and hold tight!" Eliza commanded. "One!"
Eliza pulsed her legs, driving the combined weight down. Thud. The wall groaned. "Two!" Thud. A green light flickered faintly on the concrete surface. "Three!" THUD.
With a slow, grinding sound, the entire section of the concrete wall slid silently into the floor, revealing a brilliantly lit, sterile white corridor beyond. They had found the true path.
The Lingering Contact
The pressure was released, but they remained locked in the awkward embrace for a moment too long. Eliza's heavy breathing was warm on Julian's ear, and Julian's small body felt strangely comfortable pressed against the CEO's chest. The Link Pain had vanished entirely under the enforced contact.
Eliza was the first to pull away, her cheeks warm. "We have to maintain physical distance immediately," she declared, her voice rough. "The stress of the activation is spiking the Link's desire for fusion."
Julian nodded, but the physical sensation of the powerful body holding him, and the brief, strange security it offered, lingered. He was starting to miss the feeling of being held—a feeling he hadn't realized he craved until it was provided by the person he was supposed to hate.
The Second Anchor Revealed
They stepped into the illuminated corridor. It led to a small, isolated room containing only a single pedestal covered by a clear glass dome. Beneath the dome rested a complex, antique compass, its needle constantly spinning, unable to find magnetic north.
The Micro-Drive instantly activated the display above the compass, translating the text on the pedestal: "The second piece: The Navigator's Compunction (The Price of Direction). This Anchor must find its purpose not in the stars, but in the heart of the betrayer."
"The heart of the betrayer," Julian repeated slowly. "The person Julian betrayed most—his Uncle, who is trying to steal everything. This compass doesn't point to a direction; it points to his guilt." They knew they had the Anchor, but they didn't know how to activate it, or why it had to be placed on the Uncle.
That marks the successful discovery of the Second Anchor and sets up the next high-stakes confrontation. The compass is a clue, not a simple prize.