Chapter 467: Wheelchair

Stay calm. First, find the time machine.

Li Cheng sighed. The good news was that the 【Emergency Escape Card】 in his backpack slot was still glowing, usable without conditions—but given the bizarre teleportation method of this mission and the Killing Field System's cruel sense of humor,

he might as well try completing the mission normally first, to avoid being ambushed by the damn system again.

"Let me check my skill bar."

Li Cheng thought, and summoned his personal interface. All skill descriptions had changed.

【Dragon's Breath】 became 【Kids' Version: Baby Dragon's Breath】, emitting a stream of dragonfire with the heat of hot water.

【Stony Rooting Technique】 became 【Play-Stone Rooting Technique】, temporarily turning part of his limbs into stone, with downward impact force no greater than a metal baseball bat.

【Summoning Art: Farmer】 was even more absurd—it became 【Summoning Art: Fried Chicken & Beer】, summoning food and drinks out of thin air, useless except for filling the stomach.

Each skill's Qi cost averaged around 10 points. With his current body's Qi pool, he could use each skill at most four times.

Similarly, the 【Bat Hook Gun】 in his equipment slot had turned into 【Kids' Version: Sticky Hand Toy】.

Like the sticky hand toys sold outside elementary school gates.

【Bat Heavy Motorcycle】 became 【Children's Training Bicycle】.

【3D Warehouse】 became 【Convenience Store】, with drastically reduced storage space—and even the tanks inside had turned into remote-control toys. Same for firearms and drones.

"Oh my god."

Li Cheng wanted to complain, but didn't even know where to start.

If the system had been set to full-roleplay mode, it'd be simpler—because the Killing Field wouldn't assign suicide missions, indirectly proving that even with a child's body, clearing the game was still possible.

But it wasn't full-roleplay—it still gave players access to supernatural powers, leaving too many possibilities open.

Too many choices interfered with player decision-making.

Li Cheng suppressed his distractions. The Stage One mission objective—【Escape from the Svip Cell】—had only twenty minutes left. Every second counted.

His hands were cuffed behind his back, immobilized. His eyes were covered by a blindfold, and cotton towel stuffed in his mouth—he could only strain his ears to listen.

Zzzz—

A flickering bulb above him emitted electrical noise, about 2.3 meters overhead.

Behind him, water dripped onto ceramic—likely a slightly leaking faucet.

Li Cheng slowly shifted his legs, using his socked feet to measure the bed.

The bed was 1.6 meters by 1 meter, a single metal bed against the wall. The walls were wrapped in foam padding, providing both sound insulation and protection—effectively preventing inmates from committing suicide.

Li Cheng waited over a minute, confirming no other living breaths in the room, then adjusted his posture. He rubbed his feet together to remove his socks,

then leaned against the wall, using the natural flexibility of a child's body to suddenly bend forward and hook his toes under his blindfold, pulling it off.

His vision suddenly brightened. The room matched his expectations—somewhere between a single-cell prison, a holding room, and a padded psychiatric ward.

No windows on the walls. A toilet in the corner. The main door was steel—unbreakable for a child. A narrow flat hatch was set into the door, likely for food delivery.

Li Cheng shifted his position. In the mirror, his reflection was unmistakably a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girl, clearly of Northwest European descent, about eight or nine years old.

Visible bruises on her arms.

"I knew it."

Li Cheng mentally groaned. The little girl in the mirror mirrored his expression with equal disgust.

Jeffrey Epstein was a notorious Jewish-American businessman in the real world, born in 1953 to a Jewish working-class family in Brooklyn, New York.

Early in life, he forged academic credentials to become a teacher at Dalton Academy, a private high school. During the 1980s, while teaching, he met Wall Street executives, entered finance, and in the 1990s became known on the male escort circuit as a retail tycoon and former CEO of Victoria's Secret, Les Wexner.

By managing Wexner's financial assets and receiving a massive severance payment, he rapidly amassed wealth during the U. S. internet boom, purchased Little St. James Island, and owned multiple luxury residences in New Mexico, Palm Beach, New York, Paris, and London.

He maintained close ties with America's wealthy elite. His Palm Beach mansion was only 1.6 kilometers from the Mar-a-Lago estate of a certain unnamed "Know-It-All."

The two had been neighbors for years and remained friends until 2007.

Beneath the facade of wealth and celebrity, Epstein was in fact a global-scale procurer.

His mistress, Ghislaine Maxwell, daughter of the late British publishing magnate and Mirror Group publisher Robert Maxwell, had long-standing ties to Israeli intelligence. Together, they orchestrated prostitution rings, luring young girls under the pretense of hiring masseuses to serve high-profile socialites.

Between 2005 and 2017, he was repeatedly investigated and charged for conspiracy to traffic underage males and females, human trafficking, and unlawful imprisonment.

But due to his impenetrable and complex network of connections, each investigation was quietly buried by America's top elites.

(Including but not limited to the U. S. Chain Sect, the Black Pharaoh, Microsoft's richest man, and former Israeli leader Ehud Barak), ensuring all probes ended in nothing.

Until July 2019, when he was arrested again by the FBI. Vast evidence was discovered in his New York residence. On August 10, Epstein mysteriously committed suicide in prison.

No prison guards noticed his death, and surveillance footage "accidentally" missed two minutes.

The Epstein case—its long duration, vast number of involved persons, deep entanglement with the powerful, and profound impact—was like a wedge driven into the heart of America.

Its destabilization of America's foundation rivaled the assassination of the U. S. Chain Sect.

Far exceeding similar cases in Belgium, South Africa, and elsewhere.

The nameless blonde girl Li Cheng now embodied was unquestionably another victim buried in the deep, dark shadows of Little St. James Island, before Epstein's scandal erupted.

This island was about far more than just procuring prostitutes.

Li Cheng knew his situation was dire. After scanning the room and finding no pinhole cameras, he silently slid to the head of the bed.

He arched his waist, shifting his entire body's weight onto his two thumbs, pressing them hard against the metal railing.

Crack—

His thumb joints dislocated instantly. Li Cheng violently shook his hands, wrenching free from the handcuffs, then yanked the cotton towel from his mouth.

Based on the marks on his wrists, the handcuffs had been worn for several hours.

The damp towel contained trace food residue.

Combined with the bruises on his arms, it was easy to imagine: hours earlier, this little girl had tried to escape the so-called Svip Cell during a food delivery window.

But due to her limited physical strength, she was quickly recaptured, shackled with handcuffs and leg irons, and had cotton stuffed in her mouth.

"This is bad."

Li Cheng frowned. If only he had a healthy adult body, he'd be confident he could kill his way through the entire island with a single pencil.

But this 134-centimeter-tall, 30-kilogram frail little body really was a bit hard to take seriously—she might not even be able to jump high enough to kick a security guard in the knee.

Just as he was muttering to himself,

"Cough cough cough, cough cough cough, cough—"

Outside the metal door, the faint coughing of another little girl drifted over.

Li Cheng reacted instantly—three short, three long, three short—that was unmistakably the Morse code distress signal SOS.

Anyone deliberately sending a signal could only be a player.

He planted both feet on the ground, stretched to either side, pulling the ankle chains as taut as possible to keep them from making any sound, and quietly walked up to the metal door, pushing the flap window open a crack.

The Svip cell was located underground; ahead was a not-very-wide concrete corridor, and across the corridor on the opposite side was another row of cells.

In one of them the flap window was also open, and behind it blinked a pair of big, watery eyes.

The instant their gazes met, Li Cheng and the other party both understood each other's player identities.

The other party extended a finger, pointed toward the end of the corridor, then shaped a pistol with her hand—meaning there might be a guard over there.

Li Cheng understood, made a "be quiet" gesture, signaling not to make a sound.

Since they couldn't speak, they had no choice but to use lip-reading.

'I'm Master Pi Fu. And you?'

'Just call me Oracle.'

Oracle? Barbara Gordon from Batman—the original Batgirl who suffered spinal damage and spent years in a wheelchair?

For no apparent reason, a subtle, familiar feeling welled up inside him.