"Psyche, in order to carve a path toward earthly Paradise, our first order of business must be to know all other fellow contract holders, their abilities, and their goals.
This way, we'll find out who are our allies, neutrals, adversaries, and rogues. With enough recruits for our 'Church of Truth' coven, we, the Children of Insight, will then look for ordinary people 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 enemies off guard, leaving them defenseless against our onslaught.
To begin, subduing our enemies into that regenerative coma will grant us enough time to locate and tear their contracts.
Let me carry the weight of this grim task, for I shall be of the Crimson Handed King, if need be, murderer of his own kin.
Meeting other contract holders will be easy, thanks to the mutual gravity defined within the contract itself.
As demanded, we attract one another like iron to a magnet, destined to collide in time, The C-holder magnetism.
Our task is simple: blend into the urban landscapes of Manhattan and wait for the inevitable encounter. When a fellow holder shows up, we'll observe their abilities, offering allegiance should they align with our great cause.
However, if they intend to cause more chaos or meddle with our plans, my dear Freak Show will deal with them, striking fear deep into their essence.
For those who are irredeemable, I'll destroy their resolve, cripple them mentally, tear their contract, and the only Memento Mori left from them would be the bloody ink on my hands.
Our journey won't be filled with flowers and sunshine; it's a path filled with sweat, blood, and controversy. Most holders, I suspect, are infected souls, each clinging to their own fake truths, forsaking the greater good for their selfish urges or mere satiation in hedonistic pleasures until their very last breath.
I believe some of them are gonna have that Hero Complex, you 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 humans from evil, no matter what.
Good versus evil, it's all part of the same old dance. The same scenario repeats itself from when the Old Gods walked on The Old World.
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, disrupting our plans just for the heck of it. Can't say I ain't looking forward to clashing with them though, gonna be one hell of a ride.
Psyche, Now, listen up carefully.
Our main goal right now is to track down them other contract holders. You head on home and get some shut-eye.
Me? I'm gonna hit the streets and rub elbows with some fellow anarchists and contract holders alike. You know where to find me if you need anything, just drop on by tomorrow morning at my apartment.
I'll be busy tonight, raising a little bit of hell, for some spice."
Psyche then replied, "Sounds like a plan," she murmured, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I might wander a bit tonight, see what the darkness holds. We'll meet up in the morning, and talk about the night'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 fake concern. "Keep your wits about you. And as for your contract, you gotta hide it somewhere safe. The less said about it, the better, eh?"
Psyche vanished through her portals, leaving me alone in Calypso's cozy coffee shop. With a nod of gratitude, I stepped out into the cold city evening.
The first stop on my twisted journey: The Bank.
Why? You might ask. Well, I believe that if people started looting, some crazy motherfucker might as well try to steal a bank.
After several minutes I arrived at the central bank and as expected chaos reigned in front of and inside the grand halls of of the bank.
A robbery was in progress, and the air plentiful with tension and fear. Among the thieves, one figure caught my eye—a man with eyes of different colors.
BINGO, heterochromia, a telltale sign of a contract holder.
I decided to watch his performance and then decide if I should intervene or not.
Clothed in the attire 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 Peacemaker, The Colt Single Action Army? Curious indeed. Perhaps his abilities lay beyond mere bullets and steel, we will see...
With a simple gesture, he mimicked the shape of a gun with his hands, a childish play that turned very real as the guards fell, pierced by invisible bullets.
Manifesting bullets? An interesting ability indeed. I treaded carefully., aware of the potential danger of his powers.
Though dodging the bullets seemed easy for me, the true extent of his abilities remained hidden in uncertainty.
Nonetheless, curiosity compelled me to approach and attempt communication with these outlaws...