Paragon Generations: The Age of Vigor: The Age of Vigor

By Mike Orozco

About the Book
Centropolis Pigeon City is a place for heroes, but even heroes face hardships and struggle. Now this metagenite group of very special beings must face a rising villain who has a devastating plan for the planet we all call home. And despite any emotional turmoil our heroes might be going through, they’ll have to band together, get the job done, and protect those who need it most. Paragon Generations: The Age of Vigor is the third in the War-Time Paragons series.

About the Author
Mike Orozco is a simple civilian, to begin with, who enjoys fantasy and science fiction. He likes to be around people to observe them and to help him reflect on the aspects of their different personalities, and use that in developing his characters. Struggling with mental health has helped the author to bring emotion into the scenes of the characters in the stories he has created.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Jul 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9781649573612

Book preview

Chapter

I

Fifteen years later,

AD 1972, Italy

The gentle breeze had come over Cellan Basford’s arm for another moment while he drove his family miles south of Milan.

Cellan’s blonde-haired wife, Talula, is in the front seat with Cellan and their adolescent children in the back seat. She is enjoying the drive while speaking with their children, who were fluent in the Italian language by now. Something she and Cellan were not, having grown up in the American south.

Mama, says Madeleine Bosford to Talula, tapping her arm, then asks when they would find a nice spot for them to have their picnic. The family would usually have a picnic close to the Mediterranean Sea near the shore.

It had been a whole five minutes or so when Cellan had noticed the black car behind him, looking through the rearview mirror. Cellan decides to press more on the gas. The car continues to follow them. He presses on the gas again; the same car keeps up.

Talula notices the car moving behind them by seeing her husband who is starting to drive in a hurry. She turns to look at him after speaking with their twin son and daughter.

There is an almost pale look on Cellan’s face.

Cellan, what is it? asks Talula of him with her deep southern accent.

It is nothing I can’t handle, I’m going to— Cellan turns next on the curved road, and there is a blockade of local police cars ahead.

Cellan slows down, completely stepping on the brake.

He imagines as if everything he has ever done in his life appears in through one event after the other in thought sequences—Talula and Cellan moving to Italy from Jamaica for their honeymoon. The birth of their twin children. The first time Cellan bought a pair of identical tricycles for his children. The last time he had seen Dale Carver, Stan Werhol and Gus Gladtree walking away from their home on their way to start their new lives elsewhere.

Stan Werhol and Dale Carver being partners in crime and stealing from several different banks in Texas and New Mexico with Talula and Cellan. Gus was an inmate who was busted out of a mobile prison transfer vehicle in 1948 along with Stan.

Cellan feels the sudden grasp of Talula on his bicep, looking at the blockade, then turns to look at her.

I need you to stay with the children, Cellan tells her, then slowly opens his side door and steps out.

Cellan gently walks toward the blockade of vehicles as the men in the car behind get on their bullhorns demanding that he stay in his car.

Talula is exclaiming the same to him. The children are watching their father half expecting him to do something. They are aware of his unique ability, which they still could not explain properly at their age.

The men in the car behind Cellan’s family watch as a group of four men step out and stand their ground pointing their guns at him.

Cellan Bosford! shouts out one of the four men to him. Federal agents, he says holding out his badge. Come quietly now. We mean you and your family no harm.

Cellan turns to look at him, then looks at his family."

You finally have me, but I don’t want to go. Just spare my wife and children, he says to the agent as he raises his arms.

Cellan gently squats down almost sitting on the ground, then in a quick instant jumps up a good fifty feet in the air. Jumping over the blockade that had come about in front of him.

Cellan! exclaims Talula suddenly. Cellan lands on his feet, jumping up again as a stray bullet from a rifle passes through his chest in midair.

Cellan falls flat on his face, landing hard on the ground, horrifying his wife and children instantly as soon as they heard the shot.

Talula comes running out of the car screaming out his name, until she is grasped by two of the four men from the black vehicle behind them.

Nooo! she screams as the men from the blockade surround Cellan’s body.

The first federal agent holds her down as the second agent reads Talula her rights telling her she is under arrest.

She is handcuffed behind her back, being taken inside the black car of the agents.

The other two federal agents reach out to the children taking them in their custody.

I’m sorry you had to see that, children, your father—

Madeleine, the daughter, suddenly pushes the federal agent against his torso, not touching him. She had sent him falling back pushing him with her open palm.

Jeez! shouts the agent, getting back to the young girl, proceeding to place the twins in the back seat.

Within days, Talula Bosford is held in a jail cell in Milan. The agents explain to her the details of the full investigation and years of searching for herself, Cellan, and the others.

Just the other week, Mr. Stan Werhol was coming from a funeral of Gus Gladtree; he had just passed on, says the agent in the cell with her.

Mr. Werhol chose not to go quietly, so we took him down as same, the fed adds.

As same?! So carelessly?! As you murdered the father of my children?! exclaims Talula, glaring at the agent.

Unfortunately, yes. Dale Carver cooperated with us and will be taken to the Gauntlorn Maximum security prison as will you. The agent writes with a pen on a small notepad in front of him observing Talula.

Gauntlorn? Where is that? Talula asks.

The newest and toughest prison in New Mexico. You’ll be transferred there immediately.

Talula asks the man for a cigarette, he pulls a pack from his breast pocket, then pulls out one cigarette and hands it to her. The agent proceeds to light the cigarette with the lighter from his pocket as well.

What about my children? Where will they be taken?! Her attention doubles toward the matter, putting the cigarette against her lips then puffing out a cloud of smoke after the agent lights it.

We have contacted your mother in Little Rock, Arkansas, says the fed, looking directly into her eyes. We decided it is for the best they stay with her; it is either that or foster care.

My mother is in her seventies. They will be loved by her, but—

Mrs. Bosford, you could change your mind about that, or you can accept it for the sake of your children, continues the federal agent, lighting a cigarette himself. There have been some reports of misconduct in the past through some foster care. I’d prefer your son and daughter be placed with your mother instead, explains the agent.

Very well then, responds Talula, exhaling another cloud of smoke. When can I see my children? she asks with her thick Southern accent.

Not any time soon, depends on your privileges at Gauntlorn, the federal agent says. Talula groans.

He picks up his file tucked under the writing pad, then the pad, and pen.

He looks at her, then turns away and taps the window to the room.

He is let out and the door shuts again. Talula covers her face and slowly whimpers, with her lit cigarette in hand.

1982…

February. Aspen, Colorado.

Bill Brass Knuckle Berldeau had been a brawler and common tough guy since adolescence. He was not always one to fight with each punch counting against any other person, but more than certainly, he could take a good punch and strike back in return just as hard.

When punching back, he didn’t miss the theme of fighting hand-to-hand with an opponent. That and he could take a good crack on the face also.

On this particular bout, he was facing one of the newest metagenite opponents who were not so high in demand in the underground bouts. Still, Aidan Bogues, the bald-headed Irishman with strong fists could still shake up any opponent and literally shock them with his static shock ability.

Fight a good fight, Aidan did, though he is not the favorite and neither is Bill. The pointy eyebrowed Aidan just has the potential to fight and half the time being a brute, much like his present opponent Bill.

A quick and fierce uppercut to the jaw of Bill and the people gathered around them are thinking Bill would be out. He stands back up, then touches his face calmly where he just got hit, grinning a ferocious grin back at Aidan.

Did you enjoy that?! There is more where that came from! says Aidan Bogues in his Irish accent, the adrenaline rush he is having along with fighting Bill, readying his fists.

Bill Brass Knuckle sticks out his strong arms, his dukes as you may say, and paces himself in front of Aidan while moving side to side. A brass knuckle on his index and middle fingers.

Be ready for anything, Bogues! says Brass knuckle rather grunting to him.

He moves in toward Aidan and opens his palm to Aidan’s face, suddenly flashing a light in Aidan’s eyes! Bill moves to the side, missing a full jab across the face from his opponent, thrusting forward against Bogues’s right cheek, knocking him back.

The surrounding crowd of people goes wild at that moment.

Aidan slowly stands up holding the side of his face. What the hell was that?!

I’m sure you heard me right, Bogues, responds Bill.

Aidan lunges at him, still blinded and tackles Bill, almost landing on some of the people and gamblers who came by to watch.

Bogues lands two fists on Bill’s forehead, momentarily he is punched across his jaw line. Aidan stumbles down, stands back up again, then drops on his back.

Say good night, lamb chop, Bill says to Bogues, standing over him.

The crowd screams out in disappointment and in surprise at the same time.

Bill looks around to the faces of the 150 or so people in the crowd gathered around on the snow, looking for somebody in particular.

Bill finds his friend, who sticks out like a sore thumb in the crowd due to his muscular build.

Bill sees him smiling at him, and he does in return, walking toward the muscular man.

I knew you would come, Sig, says Bill, slapping his strong hand against his.

I’m glad to be a part of this; I don’t think I could miss it, responds Sig. Bill rubs his hand on the short, dark brown hair on his own head.

Both men walk out from the dense wooded area and toward an array of wooden lodges close by. Some of the people applaud as Bill leaves the scene with his friend.

In a place like this, I would have imagined a guy like you would be wrestling a grizzly bear, says Sig, smiling, as they walk inside one of the wooden lodges up the side of the mountain while laughing.

Then you know where my ambitions lie, says Bill. Except I don’t go shitting in the woods… often.

Bill takes off his sweaty undershirt and walks into the bathroom inside the lodge, as another man steps inside along with a few other people.

How typical of him to say that, says a man holding a cane and followed by three young women and a second man. The second man being another fight promoter named Jacques Relvier.

The first man a rather classily dressed man in a suit, looking like he had made a name for himself.

Wesley, how are you? Sig asks the man with the purple suit and the cane.

I’m doing very well, my friend. I earned an additional 13 percent in this bout more than I did placing Killer Rook and Elorc Traanz together inside a dirt arena in Jordan, Wesley responds, tapping the end of his cane on the wooden lodge floor.

How did that bout end up, Wesley? Sig asks, crossing his arms.

Had it not been for Elorc’s ability to move here and there very fast, Killer Rook would have creamed Traanz, replies Wesley, looking into Sig’s eyes.

You still manage Killer Rook, don’t you? asks Sig.

He is Bill Calvin’s guy, actually, responds Wesley.

Sig Dreg looks over the three ladies smiling and the Frenchman in the room. Wesley moves to the side of Sig’s face.

Care for a side of ass? The blonde has it in for you, Wesley whispers in Sig’s ear.

Sig closes his eyes for a moment, smiling. I’m really okay, Wesley. I’m just going to my cabin and I am going to feed Bilon, he responds.

Hey, welcome back, continues Wesley J. Cutting. I’m glad you are considering staying here with us. Wesley steps out with the three young women and Jacques.

Sig sighs for a moment, watching the young blonde-haired woman waving goodbye. Sig waves back.

Just then, Sig listens to Bill singing to Dixie land in the shower. Bill being a natural Southerner, of course.

Sig steps out, walking three cabins away and inside his own. He sees his bird cage and his pet cockatiel, Bilon, grasping on to the side of his surroundings.

Hello, my little man. I didn’t forget your food, Sig says, grabbing a nearby cracker off a table, placing it on the tip of his mouth, and then pushing his face against the cage. Bilon walks over placidly and starts biting the cracker away with his beak.

You know me so well, my little friend, says Sig, sitting on the rented-out bed in his own room.

Sigmund Dreg begins to think about in what direction his life will continue from this point on. He slowly lays down on his back, with Bilon in his cage on the cabin bed.

A commoner from Phoenix, Arizona, Sigmund Sig Dreg has had the fortune to be muscular in appearance since he was fifteen years of age.

He was fortunate to be a very stern learner in the ways of Greco-Roman wrestling and boxing because of befriending Bill Brass Knuckle. Bill cared enough for teaching the youthful boy how to dominate an opponent. Bill also taught him a few martial arts moves as well. Bill could be a handful inside the ring or anywhere he would fight, though Sigmund was just as clever and agile.

Only once did they fight each other, outside a café in Morocco. That was in 1978.

Both men had the metagen gene passed to them. Metagenite is short for metagenesis, a form of mutation.

Sig’s fight career as the eighth and final metagenite underground contender made him some kind of celebrity in popular places around the United States and Canada. It was his chance to have a serious relationship with one of his fellow fighters, Tei Onan. Who was just as much a handful fighting and hard hitter as Sig.

Despite his underground contending prowess, Sig became a rather troubled person due to getting involved with an athletic and jealous woman like Tei Onan.

Sig is on the brink on separating and calling off his status as lovers to date with Tei.

Overall Sigmund is a very content person, with his career soaring and his friendships to Bill Brass Knuckle and Susanna Surley Harley.

Susanna is a real down-to-earth fellow metagenite fighter and the daughter and eldest child of the famous wartime Paragon Finn Harley.

Sig also always had the ability to never get placed in a submission, even against large opponents and big contenders like Green Golem. Green Golem is another client of the rising underground promoter Wesley J. Cutting, co-managed by the French manager Relvier.

Sig would just allow his opponents to slap him around a bit, then go beating on them next moment. It was a strategic way of training and winning from Bill Brass knuckle Berldeau.

Surely the sexes are different, a man, a woman, but it made little difference when they almost all had similar strengths and fought against each other in the underground movement.

Two women fighters were in the movement to be precise and six men in the underground fighting.

At