Want more chapters right now? đ„
Check out the Patreonâover 60+ advanced chapters are waiting for you today!
đ patreon.com/Mr_UmU
Currently under 18+, the 18+ status will be removed in a few days.
_______________________
Chapter 92: Shortcomings
On the third day after returning from space, George remained buried in work. One of his clones was still in the library, studying the thick stack of books he had brought back from the Suicide Squad world, while George himself sat in the study, going through the reports and data Monday had been collecting nonstop in the background.
Fred entered quietly, holding a folder under one arm.
"Master," he began, "the White House has sent a document. President Roosevelt has personally asked whether the family can provide additional jobs."
George didn't look up immediately. He turned a page, scanned a few lines, then set the paper down and gave Fred a small nod.
"What's the context?"
Fred glanced at the folder again. "It seems the administration is trying to encourage major industrial families to reopen employment lines. Lower commodity prices, open up production and stabilize key goods. He wants to show quick progressâget ahead of the next round of public pressure."
George leaned back slightly. "Alright. Here's what we'll do. Tell Roosevelt I'll be expanding our presence in agriculture. We'll put together relief packagesâfree food for women and children in the supermarket districts. As for the menâ" he paused, eyes on the desk "âsend them to the mines. We've got capacity there, and there's no shortage of roles that need filling."
Fred nodded, taking notes.
"Also, notify the supervisors in charge of domestic mining operations. Have them scale up. I want double shifts and expanded hiring. If they need to train new workers, do it on-site."
"Yes, Master."
"You can leave it with me from here."
Fred bowed slightly and stepped out.
After he left, George leaned forward and reached for the stack of printed reports beside him. Monday had compiled comprehensive data on all currently owned farms, ranches, and regional warehouse operations. The files included soil metrics, irrigation models, projected crop yields, fuel and transportation costsâevery number necessary to evaluate whether the system could keep up with future demands.
George flipped through it methodically.
What he saw didn't surprise him. The current footprint was substantial, but it wouldn't be enough. Not when war came. Not when entire ports might be blockaded. Not when demand would spike and supply chains would choke out.
He needed more.
A lot more.
Even before Roosevelt had made his request, George had been planning the next industrial wave.
The first step was agriculture. Though the bank had absorbed enormous swaths of land through loan defaults during the Depression, most of it still sat idle. These repossessed acres were his now, but they weren't working for him yet.
So he'd fix that. He planned to purchase additional land around every city where his family's supermarkets and shelters operated. Crops would be grown close to the shelves. Ranches would breed cattle and poultry within one day's travel of the production lines.
No middlemen. No delay. No spoilage.
The second step was food preservation. George had already approved plans for a nationwide canned food operation. It wouldn't just be generic tins eitherâhe wanted high-quality output. Meals that didn't taste like war rations. Meats in sauce, spiced vegetables, balanced nutrients. The kind of thing someone could eat cold and still feel like they had a home worth going back to.
And the third stepâmining.
George had been preparing for that since 1928. He'd secured metal reserves, oil fields, and uranium claims. Sites in Australia, Alaska, and Montana. All chosen carefully. All were purchased when the market was too numb to understand what they were worth.
Labor wouldn't be an issue. It was cheap now, desperate, and Abundant. And if the White House was asking for jobs, George could deliver them by the thousands.
By the next morning, the plans were finalized. George signed off on each initiative and sent the packages to Fred, who would pass them along to the necessary executives.
George didn't need to micromanageâhe knew how to delegate. But the final strokes still needed to be his.
After the updates rolled out, George's holdings across the country snapped into motion like a well-oiled machine. Farms began hiring in bulk. Construction crews broke ground on canning plants. The mining sites in the Southwest sent back word that new drilling rigs had arrived.
Some families, watching from the sidelines, assumed George was just fulfilling Roosevelt's request out of political loyalty. After all, the Roosevelt administration owed a great deal of its early stability to George's support.
But Roosevelt himself couldn't quite read the family.
He had noticed that, since taking office, the PL Holding Group had made no unusual requests. Even when Roosevelt passed the inheritance billâlegislation that should've hit George's estate hardestânot a single letter of protest came across his desk.
He didn't know what to make of it. But with everything else on his plate, the President simply chose not to look too closely. As long as the family didn't cause problems, unlike others, that was one less thing to worry about.
A month passed before George found time to pause. The paperwork had slowed, and the signatures were done. His people were executing. And for once, nothing needed his immediate input.
Late one evening, George stepped out onto one of the castle's upper terraces. The night air was crisp. A faint breeze rolled off the sea. The stars above were sharp and clearâan untouched sky without satellite trails or pollution.
He stood there for a long time, looking up.
The Milky Way scattered like powdered silver overhead. The kind of view that made a man feel like he was looking at something ancient, something patient. George didn't believe in divination, not really, though he had studied some of it under Flamel. But on nights like this, it was tempting to wonder what might lie in those patterns above.
He had so many answers about the future. Maybe it was good to leave a few questions.
Still, his mind turnedâas it always didâto what remained unfinished.
The Witch siblings had yielded far less than expected. Their magic wasn't learned, it was instinctive. Ancient. Biological. George had hoped to extract something usableârituals, theory, insightâbut in the end, their knowledge hadn't translated into anything practical.
Their arrival in that world hadn't been planned. They'd stumbled into it, just like so many before them. And Amanda Waller had only used them because she couldn't understand them, let alone control them. George was no different. Not yet.
So, for now, he sealed them. He'd revisit the problem later.
Instead, he turned his focus inward, towards his own limits.
Magic? He was strongâno question. By now, his fusion of Hogwarts magic and Kamar-Taj mystic arts was polished, versatile, and nearly on par with Doctor Strange. Strange had the Time Stone; George had the Chaos Pearl.
In shooting, George had reached the upper ceiling of what ordinary humans could do. He wasn't a Deadshotâbut he was close, while he had physical body leagues surpassing any of them, but in unarmed combat?
That's where the gap still sat.
Even with his enhanced physical stats and the Shikotsumyaku bone reinforcement, George's actual hand-to-hand training hadn't moved past special-forces-level drills of this era. He had inherited some muscle memory from Deadshot, but let's be honestâDeadshot didn't prefer to fight like a martial artist. And up against someone like Bruce? That kind of skill gap would show in under ten seconds.
Which was why George had politely passed on the sparring match last time Bruce offered. Not out of fearâhe just didn't see the point in giving up free intel for no gain.
But that would change now, George had made his decision.
This time, he would enter the Suicide Squad world in his real body. No clone this time. Just him.
He had training to do.
And Bruce Wayneâcurious, observant, suspicious Bruce Wayneâwould say yes to a new match. Not out of trust, But For more intel, more secrets, and for understanding what he doesn't know.
George didn't care either way.
Let the Bat run his analysis.
Meanwhile, George would be learning. Everything Bruce would throw on his way, martial arts, counterfeits, ancient and modern fighting styles, unlike the real world.
So, after setting a clone to monitor his base reality, George crossed over. For the first time, he stepped into the Suicide Squad world as himself.
The difference was subtle. The transition didn't sting or jar. But something about the air felt sharper. Like he had dropped the training wheels.
He didn't waste time. Within an hour, he had reappeared in the same apartment he'd used in Gotham. After syncing up with Monday, he dispatched a clone toward Metropolisâhe had plans there, too.
But his main body?
It arrived in Bruce Wayne's underground base ten seconds later.
George didn't bother asking whether Bruce would train him.
He already knew the answer.
________________________________
đ„ Want bonus chapters? Let's reach the goal together!
đ 1 Power Stone on the Book Page = 100 on Chapter Pages!
đ Power Stones on the Book Page boost rankings and visibility!
Goal: 50 â Remaining: 32Â = 2 Bonus Chapter
Visit the book page to donate your Power Stone, leave a review, and drop a comment â thank you! đ