Grand Line – Veilstead, the Hidden Winter Island. Far from the charted routes, this snowy outpost lay forgotten after the World Government's devastating Buster Call. Its old monarchy was wiped out, leaving an icy throne that a new dictatorship seized. The Neoterra Mandate took control of the vacuum left behind, promising order but craving absolute power. Rumors swirled that their scientists could even control minds – the perfect rumor to stoke fear across the Blues.
With the old government gone, the Neoterra Mandate quickly began building a secret army. They kidnapped children from the nearby coastal villages – the younger, the better, since the experiments were so deadly. In hidden labs they fed the kids unknown compounds that should never enter a human body. They spliced DNA from the strongest pirates they had samples of – even sneaking in strands from a fierce feline Mink rumored to have once carried a legendary bounty. The final touch was the cursed spawn of the sea: a drop of Devil Fruit essence.
"A little mind control goes a long way," the Mandate's scientists joked over cold cafeteria coffee, poring over lab reports. Between the brainwashing elixirs and memory-wipe serums, their child soldiers would be obedient and empty – a private army built without question.
Even the name Veilstead was whispered as a curse. Since the Buster Call, it was considered a wasteland – a place so toxic the World Government refused to acknowledge its existence. Perfect hiding spot. No one in the Marines or Revolutionary Army would look for a secret lab on a dead island no one admits is real. After all, why return to a place that was literally bombarded into oblivion? "Seriously, it's like burying your sins under the Arctic snow, hoping they'll stay buried," the junior recruit muttered.
But from out of sight, this hidden threat was growing. If you neglect a problem, it festers until it's unstoppable. The Veilstead lab was the Mandate's demon in the dark, slowly growing stronger every day – one day, that demon would come crashing back to bite them all.
Inside the Neoterra Mandate's most secure facility, Subject E-01 was being born. On paper, she had normal parents and a normal birth. In reality, she was a perfect storm of genetic experiments. The scientists had spliced her DNA with genetic material from some of the most infamous pirates they could capture. Most notably, they injected feline Mink genes from a catlike warrior of the New World – a bloodline known for sharp claws and keen senses. Because of that Mink blood, the baby was born with unusual feline traits: a pair of pointed ears on top of her head and a long, fluffy tail.
A new lab recruit tapped on the thick glass viewing window as he walked by the birthing chamber. "So… did we do that on purpose?" he asked quietly, pointing at the wriggling infant whose ears twitched in the dim light.
"OF COURSE WE DID!… I think," muttered Sergeant Horatio, looking just as surprised as the recruit. He'd only half-heard the Mink DNA rumors and clearly hadn't expected to see the results.
Dr. Marlowe – one of the lead scientists – turned from a nearby console, eyebrows raised. "Yes, we did," he said, not missing a beat. "We spliced in that Mink DNA so she could inherit the full effect from our limited sample. We got only a pinch from that New World cat warrior, but it was enough to…" He trailed off, trying to sound confidently profound.
Just then, Petty Officer Sato kicked a toolbox down the corridor. "NAILED IT!" he shouted, celebrating the momentary repair of a broken panel.
The lab's security chief, standing near the window, chuckled. "Good job, Sato. Four more to go." He turned to the recruit. "That's Petty Officer Sato," he explained dryly. "He's part of the weapons crew and very enthusiastic about fixing things. Best to just roll with it."
Dr. Marlowe adjusted his glasses and continued, as if the interruption never happened. "Our little girl here is our first and only successful Mink experiment. No other subjects survived the splicing. We used almost all our Mink DNA on her. In short, she's our perfect soldier, a true miracle child."
With that, the doctor opened the hatch and scooped the fragile infant into his arms. "Welcome to the world, Subject E-01," he whispered, not entirely sure if he meant the world of children or the world of war.
Six Years Later
By age six, Subject E-01 had exceeded every expectation. She followed orders to the letter and even anticipated them before they were given. Her balance was uncanny: she could scamper up the walls or cling silently to the ceiling like some kind of stealth predator. Every step she took was measured and quiet; she moved with the instincts of a born assassin.
She had grown into a pale child with hair the color of moonlight, shimmering faintly under the lab's fluorescent bulbs. Her eyes could narrow into catlike slits to see in the dark. Her tail swished softly behind her, a living metronome of concentration. Her ears pricked at every whisper. Every little sound in the lab—the scrape of shoes on metal, the hum of lights—reached her instantly. Even as she obeyed every command, her unnerving stillness and the twitch of her ears began to unsettle the handlers. The silence around her became heavy, making even the scientists exchange uneasy glances whenever they thought she wasn't listening.
Inside, though, E-01 was never empty. She felt every day's fear and loneliness weigh on her like layers of ice. She watched everything. She remembered everything. Not like a normal child, but like something forged from snow and steel. The handlers believed they had made her obedient; in truth, she had only learned that silence was survival.
Feelings were dangerous here. Even a spark of hope could be snuffed out by a syringe. Fear was drilled into them as a lesson; isolation was a cage. The children were pitted against one another, tested to see who cried, who broke. Survival was the only victory worth winning. There was no laughter in this place, no echoes of childhood—only quiet obedience.
Still, E-01 endured.
On this day, like every day, she sat inside her cold containment pod, unflinching and silent. The lab lights painted pale reflections across the glass, and she watched her own catlike eyes blink. She waited. Today was her third test of the week. Already she knew the footsteps: two slow steps meant a sedative; four quick steps meant a needle at the ready.
Whispers in the hallway spoke of a "fusion trial" — the final step. They wanted to inject her with a potent Devil Fruit–derived serum. No child in Veilstead had ever survived that stage… not yet. No one could say why they believed E-01 might be different.
Her slender fingers flexed slowly, tail curling around her chair leg. She had mastered stillness so completely that her heartbeat was barely audible.
Then the door hissed open. Dr. Marlowe's face appeared. "Subject E-01, it's time," he said.
The lock clicked, the glass panel slid away, and the cold corridor lay before her. E-01 lifted her head and listened to the click of his boots as he approached. The world was an ice tunnel of light around her, but she did not flinch.
In that silent lab, Subject E-01 was more alert than ever, her entire being coiled and ready. Each trial, each day, had only made her stronger.
And somewhere deep inside, a voice that had been silent for years finally whispered back to the one little thought that had managed to grow in the darkness:
One day… I will leave this place.