"To carve a path toward earthly Paradise, our first order of business must be to rendezvous with fellow contract holders. This way, we'll discern allies, neutrals, and adversaries alike. With ample recruits for our 'Church of Truth' congregation, we, the Children of Insight, will then canvass ordinary folk who share our vision for a better world, grounded in truth and enlightenment. But for those contract holders who dare obstruct our cause, we'll have no choice but to deal with them, swiftly and decisively. And herein lies our advantage: by concealing our true powers, we'll catch our foes off guard, leaving them defenseless against our onslaught. To begin, subduing our adversaries into slumber will grant us ample time to locate and tear their contracts. Let me shoulder the grim task, for I shall don the mantle of the Crimson Handed King, if need be, murderer of his own kin.

Meeting other contract holders will be no challenge, thanks to the magnetic pull defined within the contract itself. As stipulated, they attract one another like iron to a lodestone, destined to collide in time, The C-holder magnetism. Our task is simple: blend into the urban landscape and await the inevitable encounter. When a fellow holder emerges, we'll observe their abilities, offering allegiance should they align with our cause. However, if resistance persists, my dear Freak Show shall unfurl, striking fear deep into their core. For those irredeemable, I'll shatter their resolve, cripple them mentally, rending their contract asunder and leaving naught but wreckage in our wake. Our journey won't be strewn with petals and sunshine; it's a path fraught with sweat, peril, and strife. Most holders, I suspect, are tainted souls, each clinging to their own skewed truths, forsaking the greater good for their selfish whims or mere indulgence in hedonistic pleasures until the very end.

I reckon some of them are gonna have that Hero Complex, y'know? Sometimes called the Hero Syndrome or Savior Complex, it is when someone strives to be the hero of the situation. No matter the situation or the odds, they want to be the ones that save the day. Always gotta be the big shot, swooping in to save the day, no matter what. Good versus evil, it's all part of the same ol' dance. But them rogue ones, now they're the real troublemakers. They're just as crazy as me, except they ain't got no higher purpose. All they wanna do is stir up chaos, disruptin' our plans just for the heck of it. Can't say I ain't lookin' forward to tusslin' with 'em though, gonna be one hell of a ride.

Psyche, listen up. Our main goal right now is to track down them other contract holders. You head on home, get some shut-eye. Me? I'm gonna hit the streets, rub elbows with some fellow anarchists and contract holders alike. You know where to find me if you need anythin', just drop on by tomorrow mornin'. I'll be busy tonight, kicking up dust and raisin' hell."

Psyche's words echoed through the cafe, a promise of dawn's rendezvous and shared secrets. "Sounds like a plan," she murmured, a hint of anticipation in her voice. "I might wander a bit tonight, see what the darkness holds. We'll reconvene in the morning, talk about the day's revelations. And when it's time to gather our recruits, I know just the place. My talents will come in handy."

With a nod, I acknowledged her departure. "Take care out there," I cautioned, my tone tinged with concern. "Keep your wits about you. And as for the contract, I've got it tucked away safe and sound. The less said about it, the better, eh?"

Psyche vanished through her portals, leaving me alone with Calypso's lingering warmth. With a nod of gratitude, I stepped out into the cold city night, the glow of neon lights casting eerie shadows across the empty streets. The first stop on my twisted journey: the bank.

After several minutes I arrived at the central bank and as anticipated chaos reigned within the grand halls of wealth. A robbery in progress, the air thick with tension and fear. Among the assailants, one figure caught my eye—a man with eyes of different hues. BINGO, heterochromia, a telltale sign of a contract holder. I decided to watch his performance then decide if I should join or not.

Clad in the garb of the wild west, he moved with a wicked confidence. But what intrigued me most was his lack of a firearm. A cowboy without his trusty sidearm? Curious indeed. Perhaps his abilities lay beyond the realm of mere bullets and steel.

With a simple gesture, he mimicked the shape of a gun with his hands, a childish play that turned eerily real as the guards fell, pierced by invisible bullets. Manifesting bullets? A mysterious ability indeed. I treaded cautiously, wary of the potential danger lurking within his powers. Though dodging the bullets seemed within my grasp, the true extent of his abilities remained shrouded in uncertainty. Nonetheless, curiosity compelled me to approach and attempt communication with these outlaws...