Veilstead — Year 12, Subject Age: Estimated 12
They didn't tell her what the black fruit was when they brought it in.
They never told her anything.
Eira had stopped asking questions years ago. That was a luxury for those with rights. Not subjects. Not tools.
She had endured a life shaped by cold needles, metal restraints, and an endless loop of training, isolation, and testing. Others cried, screamed, and broke. She didn't. She adapted. Survived. Learned. Waited.
Her ears twitched at every shift in the hallway air pressure. Her tail, once limp and uncontrollable, now flicked with grace, balanced her gait, helped her climb, vanish into ceiling corners, and move in total silence. Her claws, hidden beneath carefully trimmed nails, were sharper than ever. Her pale blonde hair was longer now, and her eyes—once dull—had taken on a cold gleam beneath the fluorescent lighting.
She was evolving faster than anyone anticipated.
And that made them afraid.
The Fruit
When they wheeled in the containment case holding the Devil Fruit, they said nothing. They didn't need to. The way the guards stood—tight shoulders, sidearms unholstered—their unease was louder than any command.
The fruit pulsed faintly on its metal tray, as if it were breathing. It was grotesque—twisted violet flesh with barbed, vein-like ridges, and a noxious scent that made the assistant scientist gag through his mask.
"Consume," said Shiel, the project's lead overseer.
So, she did.
The taste was foul beyond imagining—like swallowing static and decay. It burned down her throat like melted iron. Her knees hit the ground. For the first time in years, her breath hitched. Not in pain—she could tolerate pain. No, this was something else entirely.
The world changed.
Suddenly, she could see it. Not the world—but the people in it. She saw the emotions hanging off them in colored pulses. Pale blue fear. Sickly yellow guilt. Deep red anger tightly compressed behind clenched jaws. It bled off the staff, even the ones trying to stay calm.
Eira stared, dazed, as her senses expanded. She could feel their worry—not just as an idea, but as a texture. She could taste their apprehension.
She curled in on herself for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensory flood. Then slowly, deliberately, she rose.
Something new had awakened.
The Change
Her body adjusted. Faster than expected. She stopped shaking after ten minutes. Breathing normalized in twenty. By the end of the hour, she could stand, walk, and respond to prompts better than before.
She was stronger. But more importantly, she was aware.
They still thought her compliant. But Eira was watching—more closely now than ever before. She tested her newfound senses in secret. Trained herself to see the emotion trails, learned to tell which fears meant weakness and which meant violence.
Within a week, she began projecting. Not much. Just enough to press calm into a trembling boy about to be dissected. Enough to spike panic in a technician fumbling with her pod's seals. Each test was subtle. Each success filed away in her mind.
The Mandate called the Fruit a success. A rare "Emotion Model" prototype from the darker corners of Devil Fruit experimentation. Not Logia. Not Zoan. Something… different.
They didn't understand it. But Eira did.
The Unseen War
At night, she laid still in her pod, listening to the thoughts they didn't say aloud. Her powers had taught her that emotions told the truth where people lied.
Shiel's hunger for power tasted bitter. The guards resented him. The lead scientist feared she'd become uncontrollable. And the whispers—those whispered conversations when they thought she was asleep—hinted at "purging the line" if any subject exceeded the control threshold.
She was nearing it.
But they didn't know. Not yet. Not completely.
She played the part perfectly—silent, obedient, predictable. Her tail curled gently, her ears twitched just enough to seem passive. Inside, though, she was burning.
The Setup
She began setting things in motion—tiny things.
Tension between the guards on the east wing was nudged into paranoia. A suspicious glance here. A moment of doubt pushed deeper there. Soon, a guard reported his comrade for acting "strangely." That comrade responded by lashing out and getting reassigned. A rift widened between teams.
In another wing, two scientists who had worked together for years suddenly couldn't stand the sight of each other. One believed the other was sabotaging results. Eira had nudged that, too—with little pulses of unease during their late-night work.
She experimented more boldly during training drills. She could now tell who would break under pressure and push just hard enough to make it happen.
Nobody suspected her.
The tension in the base had begun to boil.
Reports of malfunctioning containment systems, sudden staff arguments, and "untraceable stress spikes" circulated daily. Eira smiled silently as she passed through secured corridors, tail lazily flicking like a cat toying with its prey.
The pressure would keep building. She just needed time.
Year 13—Approaching the Line
Her abilities became stronger. She could now hold the emotional field of entire rooms. If she focused, she could manipulate feelings in multiple people without visible effort. Her handlers had grown quieter. Even Shiel began limiting his direct contact with her, sending junior staff in his place.
She heard them talk sometimes, in coded conversations not meant for her ears.
"She's stabilizing, but it's… unnatural."
"The other subjects won't last another year. E-01 might be all that's left."
"We should report this to Central."
"No. Not yet. Not until we're sure she's ours."
Eira smiled in her pod again. They didn't realize—she wasn't theirs anymore. Hadn't been for a long time.
She was learning how they broke people.
And how to break them back.
The Long Game
She still hadn't escaped. Not yet. Timing was everything.
She continued to hoard knowledge. Facility layout. Shift rotations. Emergency overrides. Backup generator placement. She watched the cooks, engineers, even janitors.
She began slipping false emotion signatures into staff members during drills, tricking security into temporary lockdowns. They blamed it on system malfunctions or drills gone wrong. But to Eira, every "mistake" was a test passed.
And all the while, her presence remained steady. Obedient. Reliable.
They never saw her smuggling bits of wire, tool fragments, and keycards. Never noticed the access panel in her cell had been loosened just enough for a small hand to slip inside.
The base was growing more unstable each day.
Fights broke out in the cafeteria. Two separate researchers had to be sedated after attacking each other in the labs. One section of the compound went into emergency lockdown when a guard accidentally opened fire on a colleague during a training exercise.
Eira had lit all those matches.
Now, she just needed to gather kindling for the final spark.
The Calm Before the Fire
In the quiet of her pod, she sat cross-legged, tail flicking lazily as she meditated. The emotional chaos surrounding her had become a background hum. She tuned it like music. At will, she could make a nearby worker feel calm, forgetful, aggressive, or just distracted enough to miss something important.
They still underestimated her.
They thought her gifted. Dangerous, maybe. But not smart enough to play the long game.
But Eira wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was preparing.
One step at a time.
And when the facility finally tore itself apart from the inside.
She'd already be gone.