While George was handling matters related to Blackshield Security and Wells Fargo Bank, the underground world remained restless. Nearly 200 members of the Jewish Gang had already been eliminated. Now, San Francisco's most powerful Italian-American Mafia family had been wiped out. Though these groups had provoked George first, the sheer ferocity of his counterattack sent shockwaves through the underworld.
This time, the blow to the Mafia's prestige was too serious to ignore. The pressure reached the very top. Someone called the Corleone Family directly.
"Vito, gather the Council members. We need a proper meeting to discuss George Orwell."
After hanging up, Vito Corleone sat quietly for a long moment, deep in thought. Then he reached for the phone again and dialed George directly.
The call connected to George's private line in San Francisco. George answered calmly and returned the call a few minutes later.
Vito informed him that the underground council was planning a meeting in New York, scheduled two weeks from now. Gathering all the heads of various families took time.
But George wasn't waiting.
This call wasn't for diplomacy. It was a probe—a way to gauge Vito's stance.
Until now, George had never touched the underworld. He focused on building public influence, corporate power, and legal dominance. But recent attacks changed that thinking. The corruption was too embedded. The legal system alone couldn't be relied upon. Power without control meant nothing.
That's when the idea took root.
Why not subjugate them all at once?
Once the thought came, he acted.
He briefed Ryan and Harry, gave instructions to the top Blackshield staff, and left San Francisco quietly.
The next day, George arrived at his private villa in the Upper West Side, New York. After a brief rest, he called for his driver.
Destination: the Corleone Estate.
An hour later, George and Vito sat across from one another in the latter's private study.
"Vito," George began, calm and direct. "Have you given any thought to what I mentioned before?"
Vito exhaled slowly. He wasn't dismissive—he was cautious.
"George, I know you're strong. But strength alone doesn't control this world. What we built—our families, our networks—it's not something that bends just because one man is powerful."
George nodded slightly.
"Then maybe I wasn't clear enough."
He stood.
Right in front of Vito's eyes, George transformed. His body, face, and even voice morphed into a flawless replica of Vito Corleone himself.
He raised a wine glass, drank like Vito, then smirked.
Before Vito could even blink, two more Georges appeared beside him. Silent. Identical.
Then all three reverted to George's true form. He sat back down.
Vito, stunned, tried to hide his shaken nerves. He set his glass down, his hand trembling slightly.
"What the hell did I just see?"
"That," George said plainly, "is Elemental Energy—a power from another world. From my world."
He let the silence stretch before continuing.
"Those techniques—transformation, cloning, substitution—they come from that power. It's not something this world can awaken on its own. No one else has the body to hold it. Only I do."
"But I can give others a small piece. A fraction. If I choose."
Vito's eyes narrowed.
"And what happens to those who accept it?"
George leaned forward, voice low.
"Their lives, and deaths, belong to me."
There was no threat in his tone. It was a fact. Unemotional.
"Your Council holds sway among ordinary people. But what happens when you face someone like me? What happens when the world changes? When powers like this become common?"
"You think bullets will stop those people?"
George leaned back again.
"What I'm offering isn't just protection. It's evolution."
Vito didn't respond. He didn't argue. He stared, thinking, calculating.
He already knew submission was inevitable. The only real question was: submit now, and gain favor? Or wait, and risk being crushed like the rest?
He made his choice.
Vito Corleone stood up, walked forward, and lowered himself to one knee. His right hand pressed over his heart in a formal salute.
"Respected Mr. Orwell," he said with dignity, "I, Vito Corleone, on behalf of the Corleone Family, pledge my loyalty to you."
George observed the moment, then nodded once.
"I accept your allegiance—and your family's."
Vito rose.
"What would you have me do?"
George stood and approached. He touched Vito's forehead—specifically, the space between his brows.
A soft glow pulsed from George's fingers. Golden energy coursed from fingertip to skin, running through mapped channels in Vito's body, eventually stopping at a node just beneath the sternum.
"That's your Elemental Seed," George said. "You won't understand it yet. But soon, you will."
He paused.
"You didn't awaken it. I planted it. It won't grow without me. But it will give you the basics—just enough to begin."
Vito nodded solemnly.
George gave a few more instructions, then left.
That night, Vito returned to his study. He sat in silence, one hand resting over his sternum.
He could feel it.
Not heat. Not fire.
A presence.
A core.
Today, his world had changed. Quietly. Permanently.
Vito picked up the phone.
"Tessio," he said. "Pick 95 of our most loyal men. Tell them nothing for now. Just that my opportunity has arrived. And in three days, theirs will too."
Tessio, Vito's oldest and most trusted subordinate, didn't question anything.
"Understood."
And when Vito later explained everything—the power, the allegiance, George—Tessio listened without doubt. He'd heard rumors. Now he believed.
Three days later, George arrived at the Blackshield Security Training Grounds in New York.
The Corleone estate wasn't large enough to hold 100 men, and George needed a long-term site for their training. Blackshield—his publicly known security company—was already being positioned as something far beyond a traditional force. The upgrade had begun.
George personally planted Elemental Seeds in all 100 handpicked men.
But only Vito and Tessio were taught deeper techniques—Substitution, and later, Cloning.
The rest? Basic abilities. Nothing more.
"What more you receive depends on what you prove," George told them all.
He handed over training to a senior Blackshield captain and walked away.
Out in the cold morning air, he glanced once back.
'The underworld doesn't know it yet, he thought, but its crown just changed hands. And it now belongs to someone not of this Earth.'
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Diary of Salvatore "Sal" ManciniLoyal Corleone Soldier – Assigned Elemental SeedEntry #1 – July 5, 1925
They said the world changed after the Great War. They were wrong. The world changed today.
Three days ago, Vito called me in. No details, just told me to pack, keep quiet, and trust him. When the Don calls, you don't ask why—you move. Ninety-five of us loaded up and got taken to some training facility owned by the Blackshield people. Fancy place. Smelled like gun oil, steel, and discipline.
Then he walked in. George Orwell.
Not the kind of man who talks loudly. But when he stands in front of you, it's like the air shifts. He spoke quietly, but we all listened. And then... he touched my forehead.
I felt something... awaken. Or maybe inserted is the better word. Like heat traveling through veins that didn't exist before. Settled just below the chest. My hands tingled. My head got light. I've been shot before. Stabbed twice. I know pain. This wasn't pain. This was power.
They call it the Elemental Seed. Some say it's a kind of energy from another world. Something called "chakra," if I heard right. But it doesn't matter what it's called. What matters is this: I feel like I could dodge bullets. Break bricks. I see better. Hear clearly. It's subtle now, but it's growing. Every hour, it's like there's a fire in me learning to breathe.
Vito and Tessio got more. Something called Substitution. I saw Tessio disappear during drills today. I don't even know what to make of that.
The young guys are excited. The older ones—like me—feel something closer to fear. Not of Orwell. Of what we might become under him.
But here's the thing. We were losing. The government didn't respect us. The other families were turning soft. Now? We're not soldiers. We're something else.
I don't know if this is salvation or damnation.
But I know this: George Orwell didn't give us a gift. He gave us a choice—survive in the new world… or vanish.
And I ain't planning to vanish.
— Sal
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
If you like these spin-offs, please tell, so I can keep doing this and bring you more good spin-off stories.