Deep within the Northern Border Territories, Valerian's special containment blood farm operated with military precision. Unlike the sustainable donation centers of progressive territories, this instaltion represented something entirely different—a facility designed specifically for vampire criminals who had once run brutal blood farms themselves.

  The poetic justice was built into the very design of the facility. Most guards, technicians, and administrators had been rescued as children from the most brutal blood farms in traditional territories. They had been among the "orphans" Valerian had collected over centuries, children who would have died in the barbaric conditions of farms like those Orlov had established and maintained.

  The facility had also seen an influx of new personnel approximately 200 years ago—vampires with an entirely different background, who unlike the orphans, weren't rescued as children. These newer personnel brought their own particur motivations to the work, and while they operated with the same military precision, there was something distinctly different in their approach that the rescued orphans recognized but never discussed openly.

  Together, they operated this special facility with the perfect efficiency of those who understood exactly what their "resources" deserved.

  Valerian stood at the reinforced observation window, his military bearing unchanged from the tribunal. He watched as two white-coated technicians made final preparations in the room beyond the gss, their movements methodical and unhurried.

  "The new arrival has been properly processed?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer. In Valerian's domain, protocols were always followed precisely.

  "Yes, Archduke," the senior technician replied, a vampire who still carried the psychological imprints of his childhood in one of Orlov's own blood farms. Though his physical body had healed completely upon transformation, the memories remained perfectly preserved in his immortal mind. "Subject has been pced in standard criminal containment. No special accommodations have been provided despite his former status."

  Valerian nodded once, the only acknowledgment needed. "And the subject's decision?"

  "Documented and witnessed according to protocol," the technician confirmed, a cold satisfaction evident in his otherwise professional demeanor. "Subject selected criminal resource designation over alternative disposition. He didn't realize which section of the facility he would be assigned to when he made his choice."

  This clinical exchange referred to a brief but significant conversation that had occurred hours earlier, when the facility had first received its newest acquisition.

  The former Archduke Orlov had awakened from daylight dormancy to find himself in a bare holding cell—a stark contrast to the comfortable premium quarters he had imagined. The concrete walls, single hard pallet, and steel feeding chair with heavy restraints immediately reminded him of the most basic containment units from his own blood farms. Valerian had been waiting when he regained consciousness, standing rather than sitting, his military posture emphasizing the power imbance between them.

  "Your situation requires resolution," Valerian had stated without preamble as Orlov oriented himself to his surroundings. "I offer crification of avaible options."

  Orlov had stared at him with a mixture of confusion and growing horror as he recognized the nature of the facility around him. "This is... a blood farm," he whispered, the reality of his situation beginning to penetrate even his fractured mind.

  "Criminal containment facility," Valerian corrected with precision. "Designed specifically for those who once operated brutal blood farms themselves. An appropriate symmetry, wouldn't you agree?"

  Orlov had heard rumors about Valerian's territory—whispers that his vampires fed exclusively on other vampires, particurly those convicted of crimes. Such stories had seemed impossible, perhaps propaganda from progressive territories attempting to discredit a traditional ally. Now the truth confronted him directly.

  "You intend to... process me?" Orlov asked, his voice barely audible. "I have committed no crime."

  "Correct," Valerian acknowledged. "You have vioted no vampire w. Animal consumption is beneath dignity but not illegal. Territorial colpse breaks no statute. Title removal was constitutional, not criminal."

  This assessment offered momentary relief before Valerian continued.

  "However, your current designation presents categorical challenges. As an unaffiliated common vampire without territorial registration or sustenance means, standard protocols indicate eventual deterioration to feral status. Statistical analysis suggests 89.7% probability of criminal activity within six months due to hunger-driven impulse failure."

  Valerian's clinically detached analysis cut through Orlov's remaining delusions. Without domain, without resources, without allies, his future path was indeed predictable—progressive deterioration until hunger drove him to viote vampire w, followed by legitimate criminal processing.

  "I offer alternative designation," Valerian stated, his red eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. "Resource cssification with appropriate accommodation status."

  The implications were unmistakable. Orlov could choose immediate cssification as a blood donor in Valerian's facility, or he could return to the outside world where his inevitable decline would lead to criminal conviction and involuntary processing regardless.

  "This is... irregur," Orlov had managed, struggling with the concept.

  "Incorrect," Valerian disagreed. "Your historical status as one who operated brutal blood farms makes this precisely regur. The majority of vampires in this facility once maintained extraction operations like yours. They now experience the methods they once implemented."

  He had then presented the stark choice with military precision: "Option one: Territorial release. You return to external environment without affiliation or resources. Projection indicates 47 days average until feral behavior emergence, followed by criminal processing within subsequent 64 days."

  His gaze had shifted subtly to the window, where dawn was approaching. "Option two: Voluntary resource designation. Standard criminal containment. Regur extraction schedule. Minimal nutritional maintenance. Indefinite sustainability."

  The choice was no choice at all. Return to the streets or wilderness where hunger would eventually drive him to crimes that would lead right back to this same facility, or accept immediate cssification with premium treatment.

  Orlov had spent several minutes in silence, the reality of his situation fully penetrating his consciousness for perhaps the first time since the human disappearance centuries earlier. Every aristocratic instinct rejected the concept of becoming a resource, yet his own systems had created this precise outcome. The infrastructure of vampire society—which he had helped establish—left no alternative path for someone in his position.

  "I require... time to consider," he had finally said, a st attempt at deying the inevitable.

  "Incorrect," Valerian had replied without emotion. "Dawn approaches. Territorial release requires immediate transport to external drop point. Decision deadline: three minutes."

  Faced with this final pressure, Orlov had made the only rational choice avaible to him. "I... accept designation," he whispered, each word physically painful to pronounce.

  That conversation had concluded with formal documentation of his "voluntary" choice, after which the processing had begun—being stripped of his filthy clothes, hosed down with cold water, and given a standard gray uniform identical to those worn by all criminal resources in the facility. It was only when he was led past the "premium" section into the criminal containment area that Orlov realized he had misunderstood the nature of his cssification entirely.

  Now, hours ter, Valerian observed through the observation window as Orlov sat restrained in a standard extraction chair, far different from the medical beds used for voluntary donors or even the comfortable chairs of premium resources. This chair was a direct replica of the devices from Orlov's own blood farms—designs Valerian's agents had documented during covert intelligence operations centuries earlier. The restraints were tight enough to cause discomfort, the chair angled to maintain the donor in a slightly painful position that prevented rexation.

  The extraction chamber's door opened to admit a vampire in a military uniform—one of Valerian's subjects who, like all vampires in his territory, fed exclusively on vampire blood by choice and under Valerian's orders. This particur vampire, though wearing standard military attire, carried himself with the unmistakable discipline that characterized all of Valerian's domain.

  The soldier entered with perfect discipline, approaching the supervising technician rather than the donor chair. Unlike the clinical protocol used with premium resources, criminal extractions followed a different procedure—one designed to mirror the experience of victims in brutal blood farms.

  "Resource identification?" the soldier inquired, following standard protocol.

  "Former Archduke Orlov, criminal resource cssification," the technician replied, emphasizing the designation. "Standard extraction parameters for blood farm operators apply."

  The soldier nodded once, recognition fshing briefly in his eyes as he turned toward Orlov. "I was Extraction Number 47 in your Northeastern Farm," he stated, his voice perfectly even despite the history behind his words. "I was scheduled for disposal when I reached extraction limit. Archduke Valerian's forces liberated the facility during my final week."

  Orlov's eyes widened with dawning horror as he recognized the implications. This wasn't just any soldier—this was someone who had directly suffered under his orders, who had nearly died in his blood farms, who understood exactly what those farms had meant for their human resources.

  The extraction that followed was not the clinical, painless procedure used for premium resources. Instead, it replicated the methods Orlov himself had established in his own farms—efficient but deliberately uncomfortable, designed to remind resources of their pce in the hierarchy. The soldier drew sustenance directly using techniques that prioritized extractor convenience over donor comfort.

  Throughout the process, Orlov's expression cycled through terror, pain, resignation, and finally—most significantly—understanding. This wasn't just random cruelty or even simple revenge. This was the same system he had designed and implemented for centuries, applied now to him with mathematical precision. He who had built blood farms across territories the size of continents, who had decreed humans were merely resources to be extracted until depletion, who had established brutal methods designed to maximize efficiency without regard for comfort, now experienced those exact methods firsthand.

  The symmetry was perfect, beyond even what Valerian had designed. The aristocrat had become the resource. The extractor had become the extracted. The creator of brutal systems now lived within those systems. The architect of suffering now suffered his own design.

  When the extraction concluded, the soldier withdrew according to protocol, not acknowledging the donor in any way—exactly as Orlov's own extractors had been trained to treat human resources. Valerian noted with clinical interest that the extraction had been conducted precisely at the designated percentage, leaving the donor weakened and uncomfortable but not permanently damaged. Even in justice, his facility maintained sustainability.

  "Next extraction schedule?" the soldier inquired of the technician.

  "Standard criminal resource rotation. Every third night, maximum allowable volume." The technician's voice held no emotion, but the schedule itself was telling—it was identical to the one Orlov had established for his premium human resources, those he had considered valuable enough to maintain rather than extract to depletion.

  As the soldier departed, Orlov's gaze shifted to the observation window. Though the gss was designed to prevent donors from seeing observers, something—perhaps centuries of aristocratic intuition—led his eyes directly to where Valerian stood watching. For a brief moment, it seemed the former Archduke was looking directly at his former peer, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Not pleading or accusation, but simple recognition: I understand now. This is what I created.

  The Archduke turned from the window, having witnessed the necessary verification of proper procedure. As he moved through the facility's corridors, he dictated notes into a recording device, his voice clinically detached.

  "Subject integration complete. Initial extraction conducted per criminal resource parameters. Historical designation provides optimal educational component for military personnel who were rescued from his territories during the mass exodus 200 years ago. Recommend standard criminal cssification with maximum extraction schedule."

  He paused briefly before adding a final observation.

  "Subject dispyed comprehension indication at extraction conclusion. Awareness of symmetrical outcomes apparent. Educational value significant for personnel. Every personnel member who was rescued from his territories during the disappearance should be scheduled for extraction duty on rotation. Perfect operational justice."

  With these final notes, Valerian departed the blood farm, returning to his primary military compound where matters of greater significance awaited his attention. The processing of a former Archduke, while unusual, represented merely one more efficient operation in his perfectly ordered territory.

  The records of this particur resource would be sealed within cssified archives, accessible only to the highest levels of Valerian's military hierarchy. No announcement would be made regarding Orlov's disposition. No acknowledgment would mark his new designation. For all practical purposes, the former Archduke had simply vanished from vampire society, his name becoming a historical footnote rather than a continued presence.

  In the formal documentation maintained by Valerian's meticulous administrators, the acquisition was registered with simple notation: "Resource designation O-1, criminal cssification, historical significance notation, indefinite extraction projection."

  The vampire himself—who had ruled territories spanning continents, who had commanded millions, who had sat in judgment over countless others—had become nothing more than another resource in a carefully maintained database, filed alongside other criminal blood farm operators in Valerian's specialized containment facility.

  The system he had helped create had cimed him completely. The wheel that had turned forward for those who suffered under his rule, now turned to him too but in the opposite direction. No amount of time would bring back the lives lost under his rule, the millions born and dead who never lived their lives and didn't even know what living their lives would mean. No true justice could ever be served, only poetic one.