A Tour of Hell's Kitchen

In the early morning in New York, a ray of light shone through a gap in the curtains, and Schiller, still fast asleep, was awakened by the Symbiote's voice.

"I'm so hungry, I'm so hungry, I want to eat brains... one brain, two brains, three brains..."

Schiller sat up in bed with a sigh and said, "You're still hungry?"

The Symbiote ignored him, just whimpering to itself. Schiller got up to wash, and the Symbiote asked, "Aren't they coming?"

"Who?"

"Those brains."

So, in your eyes, superheroes are just a bunch of brains?

But if you insist on saying it that way, there's nothing wrong with it. After all, there aren't many smart superheroes, and most of them have gathered around him.

"I'm so hungry, I'm so hungry, I'm so hungry. I want to eat the blue-eyed one's brain first, and save the brown-eyed one for tomorrow..."

Schiller discovered that the Symbiote did indeed seem to get hungry. He continuously transmitted a feeling of hunger to Schiller's mind through brainwaves, making Schiller feel a little hungry as well.

He went to the kitchen first, opened the Fridge door, and took out some chocolate to eat, but the Symbiote showed no sign of stopping its hunger.

What puzzled Schiller was that he spent a relatively long time in DC this time, and as a result, he was almost delirious with sleep on the night he met the Godfather.

Schiller wasn't a heavy sleeper. He usually relied on coffee to stay awake while working and could sleep only 4 hours a day for a week without feeling tired.

But the day before he arrived in Marvel, he was exhausted and sleepy from not sleeping all day while taking care of Gordon. This made Schiller think about his ability to travel between the two worlds. Where did this ability come from? And what are its limitations?

After thinking for a while, Schiller realized that he could not get the answer from the existing clues, so he decided to deal with the Symbiote's hunger first.

The Symbiote wanted to eat brains, Schiller didn't really mind finding a few criminals' brains to eat in Hell's Kitchen. He wasn't Batman, so he didn't follow any "no killing" rule. Anyway, Hell's Kitchen, while not as good as Gotham, was still a place where he could find a few vicious criminals.

Would you bite someone's head off?

Do you want me to do this?

"No, of course not. You have to understand, there are etiquette rules when dining. We can't be so bloody, that's too uncivilized. You can just crawl into their heads and eat their brains, but don't make it all bloody..."

"Okay, that works too..."

He really did want to bite his head off!

Schiller thought that all Symbiote have an ancestor, so they are strikingly similar in some ways.

Schiller got dressed and went out, intending to wander around Hell's Kitchen and see if he could run into a few unlucky robbers.

While Hell's Kitchen may not be as vibrant and culturally rich as Gotham, it's still quite remarkable.

Schiller had just reached the convenience store on the street corner when he saw a man in a black down jacket walk in with his hands in his pockets. Schiller could vaguely sense his current emotions through Mind Stone. He watched him from across the street, and sure enough, the man pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at the boss behind the counter.

Just as Schiller was about to walk over, he saw the shop boss pull out an even bigger gun from under the counter and point it at the robber. The unfortunate robber raised his hands and slowly backed away before dashing out of the Shop.

Well, it seems his luck wasn't so good. The first robber he encountered was a clumsy thief, and a complete novice at that. He dared to rob Hell's Kitchen with only a handgun. It would be strange if he didn't get riddled with bullets.

Schiller continued walking, crossing a small bridge over a drainage ditch and going through the back of an old clothing store.

Hell's Kitchen is somewhat similar to Gotham; although it is chaotic, evil, and full of criminals, it also has a fascinating vitality and energy.

Not far from Schiller's clinic is a famous graffiti street where all the buildings are colorful, the structures of the houses look like they are made of various colorful shipping containers stacked together, the alleys are narrow and small, and the various shops are full of retro style from the 1930s. Even the hot dog stand has a tin canopy and is covered with all kinds of exaggerated colorful graffiti.

It has to be said that this colorful style appearing in such Slums seems absurd upon closer inspection, but it looks quite harmonious. Compared to Gotham, this place is much more sunny and vibrant.

If Gotham City is filled with too many people entangled in evil and sin, and too many souls struggling to survive through crime, then Hell's Kitchen, in addition to criminals, is also home to many rebels who refuse to be bound by worldly constraints and actively escape from orderly society. They live freely and happily here, bringing a unique vitality to the place.

With a sizzle on the hot plate, the hot dog flipped over. Youth with brown skin and blue eyes, wearing an orange and red apron, brandished his spatula, then turned and quickly scooped up the potato wedges. He said in a light Mexico accent, "Want some of my special chili? Guaranteed to keep you awake all day! It's free!"

"Are you from Mexico?" Schiller asked, standing in front of the hot dog stand.

"You wouldn't believe me if I said I was a native-born American, but that's the truth. My mother brought me here illegally when I was very young."

The Mexico guy's tone was cheerful throughout, just like his movements as he made the hot dogs, carrying the unique hot and spicy style of South America.

"She works in a garment factory on the east side of Manhattan now. I've loved cooking since I was a kid, and I inherited my skills from her. Gonzalez's hot dogs are absolutely the best in Hell's Kitchen! You won't find such authentic Mexico hot dogs anywhere else!"

"But isn't taco Mexico's specialty?"

"Come on, you United States just don't like tortillas. I used to make some tacos, but nobody bought them."

"You can make it? Then give me one. When I traveled to Mexico before, my favorite things there were tacos and avocado soup."

Gonzalez snapped his the Snap, flashed a warm smile, and said, "You have excellent taste. Gonzalez's tacos are the best in all of Hell's Kitchen!"

As he spoke, he began preparing the ingredients for making tacos. Several children came running over, kicking a soccer ball. Smelling the aroma, they all gathered around the hot dog stand. Gonzalez waved his hand and said, "We don't have tacos right now. Come back later."

The children craned their necks to look, but finding nothing they wanted to eat, they kicked the ball away again. Gonzalez, flipping a tortilla, said, "These little devils come here every day asking me for tortilla chips. They can finish that whole tub of chips in minutes. But come to think of it, I was like that too. I always felt like I wasn't getting enough to eat when I was a kid..."

"Aren't they really hungry?"

"Of course not. The black kid who's leading the group, his dad is a truck driver in Hell's Kitchen. Anything left on that truck would be enough to feed his whole family. The other kids' parents also have regular jobs, so they're not having any problem eating their fill."

"Although the Slums in New York are also chaotic, they are much better than those in Mexico. Most people here can get enough to eat."

The hot dogs, tacos, and soup were quickly prepared. Gonzalez deftly packed everything up, his movements like a dazzling acrobatic act, and handed it to Schiller. Schiller paid and left an extra tip. Gonzalez was delighted. He tapped the table with his spatula and said, "You're a friend of the Gonzalez family. I'll give you a discount next time you come!"

Schiller waved to him and left, then continued walking along the graffiti-covered street.

Actually, there isn't much crime in Hell's Kitchen during the day. Sunlight shines on the oddly shaped buildings, creating more beautiful light and shadow effects than the orderly buildings on the streets of New York. A mess of wires stretches overhead into the distance, and all sorts of flashy motorcycles and itasha (decorated cars) are piled up in the narrow alleys. In the distance, you can hear children's laughter and screams.

Schiller discovered that, just like Gotham, this place, though chaotic, also possessed a unique vitality.

If many people in Gotham had no choice, then many people in Hell's Kitchen were not abandoned by society, but rather they abandoned the orderly society.

Similarly, the gang hierarchy here isn't as strict as in Gotham. If it were in Gotham, the person who just stormed into the convenience store to rob it would be asked by the boss which gang he belongs to, which street his gang belongs to, who his boss is, and whether he wants to start a war. It might even escalate into a small-scale gang shootout.

But Hell's Kitchen is different. The boss here don't care which gang you belong to. If you dare to rob them, be prepared to be shot. No matter who you are, they will pick up their guns and defend their property to the death.

In some ways, the local customs are even more genuine. Don't be fooled by the Mexico hot dog vendor's warm and attentive service; Schiller actually saw two big guns behind his hot dog cart. If any foolish gangsters dared to rob him, Gonzalez would definitely show them the warmth of Mexico hospitality.

But Gonzalez was also happy to pay protection money to the gangs on the street, and the gang members liked to buy breakfast from him; he would even give them discounts.

There aren't as many tragic and painful stories here as in Gotham. Most people here are just trying to make a living on the road to freedom, living as they please and indulging themselves, just like the rock music that often plays in United States road movies, revealing a unique sense of humor.

If Satan were to enter Gotham, he would be skinned alive by layers upon layers of the tightly organized mob, then invited by the Godfather for a "talk," perhaps even struck on the head by some tight-fitting weirdo, before being forced by the police to be sent to a mental hospital, where he wouldn't be allowed to leave without paying.

But in Hell's Kitchen, if Satan were to come here, the people would grab pots and pans and swarm him, chop Satan up, and then fry, stir-fry, and cook him. They might even have a food competition between different countries and ethnic groups.

Everyone here is a cook. Their culinary skills aren't particularly outstanding, but almost everyone can find joy in the process of cooking the devil.

This is Hell's Kitchen, a place that pursues ultimate freedom, chaos, joy, and wildness.

No one can be the emperor here, and no one can be the savior here, not even the biggest gang.

Everyone here and their lives represent the ultimate rebellion against those boring and disorderly societies. This is the biggest graffiti on the New York map, messy yet colorful, and no one can erase it.