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Vampire Rule N°36: You might have all the time in the world, but sometimes, it still won't be enough.
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When sophisticated criminal networks encroach in an area, their primary function is perpetual expansion and growth regardless of the consequences, the very same behaviour as cancerous cells.
John couldn't really see it during his first nights, what with him being more concerned with how he could carve his own place in this new world, the new perspective and mental changes brought by his condition, and trying not to notice every disgusting act in the general area.
He didn't really think about how utterly sad it was to see children peddling hard drugs in the streets while their own parents were out stealing, whoring and conning their way into ten dollars so that they may afford their high.
Or if they were lucky, rotting in blackgate until the latest breakout, early-release due to overcrowding, or the patronage of some politically gifted benefactor.
But now that he spent so much time, sweat and literal blood to conquer, then salvage it into a viable domain, he felt it thoroughly.
It was in every economic report that arrived on his desk, each compiled results of profits, costs and overhead.
Lowered prosperity, dwindling confidence and a slow but steady erosion of morals and community he and his people painstakingly cultivated.
No, he won't comment on the irony of a vampire spreading virtues.
Bubbles already did plenty of that.
But more than anything a spreadsheet could convey, it was during his nightly walks that he could truly see the high degree of damage done, and the continuous efforts to repair and rise above it all.
When he passed by businesses he owned in part or in whole, he saw defaced facades and broken windows because of yet another robbery.
When he crossed the streets and smelled broken vials freshly thrown down the gutter, doubtlessly the work of neighborhood watch and concerned citizens with a glock, a baseball bat and a solid thirty years of Gotham-induced rage.
When people looked at the lone figure wandering around, and watched warily before realizing it was sweet Johnny blue eyes, instead of some crook looking for a quick buck, or just to make an honest man's life worse.
They smiled and joked with him, tried to rope him into sharing a drink, a meal or anything more than a few moments of pleasantries and inquiries.
But he could see that the war had taken its toll.
A price he did his best to pay by himself, both through the freshly established Harker Foundation and its economic activities, and his and Copperhead's work eliminating the remnants of Thorne's outfits and whatever foolish gangbanger thought they could move-in anyway.
Stash houses were raided, bones broken and so much money, drugs and weapons seized he could easily run his own private army at this point.
However, this was the modern era and not the age of sword and cavalry, and while being a warlord truly was a man's romance, it wasn't meant to be.
Probably.
What he could do was launder the money through his ventures, then reinject it straight back into the community's veins, employ affiliated renovators and construction crews to repair the damages, push the paperwork to allow the demolition of the unlivable slums, defuncts lowrises and crack dens and build back more housing.
Expand into the whole East End, both by blood and money, now that the biggish fish around was dead and the other major crews stuck in a feeding frenzy, devouring Thorne's assets in prime territories.
Cuts of the highly profitable territory in Downtown, the Diamond District and the Docks were now the theater of a growing gang war as Falcone, the Sicilians and whoever had enough balls to contest them devoured the juicy carcass that was Ruper Thorne's lifework.
Well, it might become a gang war, now it was just huge monsters gobbling up a fractured crew too disorganized to truly defend their own booty.
Honestly, at this point, the Roman might very well send him a thank you letter for his generous contribution.
'Well, it's not like I can afford to expand right now,' John sighed, stepping into a familiar alley near Brideshead, the one where a young man once had a horrible day, 'I'm already stretched thin trying to hold onto the East End, and that's with us leaving Park Row alone for the moment.'
It was a hard decision, accepting that he couldn't truly take the territory in full, but Crime Alley wasn't like the other economically deprived, collectively traumatized, potentially cursed neighborhoods.
It was a den for the crazies, those out to carve people up and not much else, not something he could fix with some money and a winning smile, so the tried and true Alucard/Harker combo wouldn't work there.
All he could do was show up every once in a while to break some faces, and make it clear that violence spilling out of that cesspool wouldn't be tolerated.
'I guess that's how Gordon feels trying to deal with Gotham,' He couldn't help but smile.
There was simply too much work, and too little time.
He couldn't even truly look at those government spooks running around the city as of late, or try to make a more intricate gameplan to deal with the bat beyond the Hellsing Gambit and guilt tripping Catwoman, which was crazy enough to work in his humble opinion.
He knew the bat would start looking into him, and he sure as hell was going to find his hideouts, see Selina's thieving paws all over it, and interrogate her about the new kid in town until he could profile him perfectly.
Even his feeding habits were taking a backseat as he drowned in endless work, from taking down the more organized and well armed crews, showing his face in public to maintain moral and his civilian cover, keeping tabs on major players who might be tempted by the increasingly prosperous East End, both criminals or worse…investors.
Those were the real vampires.
But it could be worse, at least the Joker and most of the freakshows are tucked neatly into the Asylum, and most of the masked criminals are still acting more or less civilized…for a bunch of murderous outlaws, that is.
Better yet, he had a date with a busty brunette with a penchant for jokes that would leave him cancelled, sued and utterly despised by all political parties if the media caught a whiff of her (hilarious) nonsense.
He even managed to get his paperwork, fieldwork and token public appearance done one hour earlier than anticipated, just so they could enjoy themselves without interruption.
Because bloody hell, after all this nonsense, he deserved those cuddles.
Alas, all his wonderful plans were about to crash against a wall.