In the early morning of New York, a beam of light shines through the crack in the curtain.Waking Schiller up from his sleep is the voice of the symbiote.
"I'm hungry, hungry, I want brains... one brain, two brains, three brains..."
Schiller sighs and sits up in bed, yawning, "You can feel hungry?"
The symbiote ignores him and continues to mutter to itself. Schiller gets up, washes up, and the symbiote asks, "Aren't they coming?"
"Who?"
"Those brains."
So, in your eyes, superheroes are just brains?
But if it insist, there's no problem. There aren't many brainy superheroes, and most of them gather here with him.
"I'm hungry, hungry, hungry. I want to eat the blue-eyed brain first, save the brown-eyed one for the next day..."
Schiller realizes the symbiote really does get hungry. It constantly transmits a sense of hunger through his brain waves, making Schiller feel a bit hungry too.
He walks to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and takes out some chocolate to eat. But the symbiote doesn't stop hungering.
What puzzles Schiller is that he has been in the DC Universe for quite some time now. As a result, on the night he meets the godfather, he is almost in a daze from exhaustion.
Schiller is not someone who needs a lot of sleep. During work, he relies on coffee to stay alert and can sleep for only four hours a day. The state can be maintained for a week without feeling tired.
But the day before he arrives in the Marvel Universe, he is exhausted and quite sleepy just because he hasn't slept for a day accompanying Gordon. It makes Schiller think about his ability to travel between two worlds. Where does this ability come from? And what are its limitations?
After thinking for a while, Schiller works out the truth from the existing clues. So he decides to deal with the symbiote's hunger first.
The symbiote wants to eat brains. Schiller doesn't mind finding some bad guys' brains to eat in Hell's Kitchen. He isn't Batman, he doesn't follow any "no-killing" rules. Besides, in this hellhole called Hell's Kitchen, although it isn't as bad as Gotham, it's still possible to find some wicked and despicable villains.
"Will you bite someone's head off?"
"You want me do that?"
"No, of course not. You must know that dining has its etiquette. We can't be so bloody. It's too uncivilized. You can directly enter their heads and eat their brains. But don't make a mess..."
"Okay, I can do that..."
It really wants to bite off their heads in one go!
Schiller thinks that all symbiotes have one ancestor, so they are surprisingly similar in certain aspects.
Schiller gets dressed and goes out, planning to stroll around Hell's Kitchen and see if he can encounter some unlucky thieves.
Although Hell's Kitchen isn't as great as Gotham, it isn't less either.
Just as Schiller reaches the corner of the street, he sees a man wearing a black down jacket with hands in the pockets walking into a convenience store. He can vaguely feel his emotions through telekinesis. Schiller stares at him from across the street. Sure enough, the guy takes out a gun from his pocket and points it at the shopkeeper behind the counter.
Schiller is about to walk over when he sees the store owner pull out an even bigger gun from under the counter and point it at the robber. The unlucky thief raises his hands slowly and quickly runs out of the store.
Well, it seems today's not his day. The first robber Schiller meets turns out to be an idiot, and a novice. Robbing in Hell's Kitchen and daring to only carry a handgun, he would be riddled with bullets if he wasn't careful.
Schiller continues walking, crossing a small bridge over a drainage ditch, passing through the back of an old clothing store.
Hell's Kitchen has some similarities with Gotham. Although it's chaotic and evil, filled with criminals, there is also a captivating energy and vitality.
Not far from Schiller's clinic, there is a famous graffiti street. The buildings here are all colorful in style, resembling various colorful shipping containers stacked together. The alleyways are narrow. The various storefronts are full of retro styles from the 1930s. Even the hot dog stand, with its hot dog cart made of iron, is covered in exaggerated colorful graffiti.
One can't help but think it is ridiculous to see such a colorful style in such a slum, but it looks harmonious. Compared to Gotham, here is much more sunny and vibrant.
If Gotham City has too many people engulfed by evil and sin, too many souls struggling for survival through crime, then Hell's Kitchen, apart from the criminals, also has many rebellious people who don't want to be restrained by a conventional society and actively escape its orderly structure. They live here freely, happily, and bring a unique vitality to this place.
The hot dog sizzles on the griddle, flipping over. The young man wearing an apron in orange and red has brown skin and blue eyes. He raises the spatula in his hand and turns his head, swiftly scooping up the French fries. With a lively Mexican accent, he laughs, "Do you want some of my special chili sauce? Keeps you awake all day! No charge!"
"You're from Mexico?" Schiller asks, standing in front of the hot dog stand.
"I could say I'm a born and raised American, but you wouldn't believe it. But it is the truth. My mom smuggled me over when I was little, we crossed the border."
The Mexican guy's tone is always cheerful, just like his actions making hot dogs, carrying the passion from South America.
"She's working at a clothes factory in the east Manhattan now. I loves cooking, learned a good skill from her. The Gonzalez's hot dogs must be the best in Hell's Kitchen! You won't find more authentic Mexican hot dogs anywhere else!"
"But isn't tacos the specialty of Mexico?"
"Come on. You Americans can't handle corn tortillas. I used to make some tacos too, but nobody bought them."
"You can make tacos? Please give me one. When I traveled to Mexico before, my favorite thing is the corn tortillas and avocado soup."
Gonzalez snaps his fingers and flashes a warm smile, "You have good taste. Gonzalez's corn tortillas are also the best in Hell's Kitchen!"
As he speaks, he begins preparing the ingredients for the corn tortilla. A few kids running and kicking a football. They smell the aroma and gather in front of the hot dog stand. Gonzalez waves his hand and says, "There's no fried corn chips now, come back later."
The kids stand on tiptoe to take a look and find that there seems to be nothing they want to eat, so they run away, kicking their ball. Gonzalez flips the corn tortilla while saying, "Those little brats come over every day and ask for corn chips. They can finish a big bucket of chips in minutes. But I was also like this when I was a child, always feeling like I couldn't eat enough..."
"Are they really hungry?"
"Of course not. The black one in the lead, his dad is a truck driver in Hell's Kitchen. Anything left on his truck would be enough for their whole family to eat. The other kids' parents also have jobs, so feed them is no problem."
"While the slums in New York are mess, they are much better than in Mexico. Most people here can feed themselves."
Soon, the hot dog, taco, and soup are ready. Gonzalez skillfully packs everything, his movements like a splendid acrobat, and hands it to Schiller. Schiller pays and leaves a generous tip. Gonzalez is very happy, he taps the table with the spatula and says, "You're Gonzalez's friend, I'll give you a discount next time!"
Schiller waves at him, and after leaving, he continues walking along this graffiti-covered street.
In fact, there isn't much criminal activity in Hell's Kitchen during the day. The sunlight shines on the oddly shaped buildings, creating more beautiful shadows than the neat buildings on the streets of New York. Entangled electric wires extend overhead into the distance. Various flashy motorcycles and beat-up cars are piled up in narrow alleyways. Laughter and screams of children can still be heard in the distance.
Schiller finds that, just like Gotham, despite the chaos, this place also has its unique vitality.
If in Gotham, many people don't have a choice, many people in Hell's Kitchen aren't abandoned by society, but rather they abandon the ordered society.
Similarly, the hierarchical system of the gangs here isn't as strict as in Gotham. If it were Gotham, the shopkeeper would ask the robber who rushed into his store which gang they belong to, which street their gang belongs to, who their big boss is, whether they want to start a war, and it might even provoke a small-scale gang war.
But it's different in Hell's Kitchen. The shopkeepers here don't care which gang you belongs to. If you dare to come and rob, you better be prepared to get shot with a magazine pf bullets. No matter who you are, they'll pick up their guns and defend their possession to the death.
To a certain extent, the local customs here are even more simple. Don't be fooled by the warm and easy-going Mexican hot dog guy; Schiller sees two big guns behind his hot dog truck. If any fools dares to rob him, Gonzalez will definitely let them experience the" heat" from Mexico.
However, Gonzalez is also willing to pay protection money to the gangs on this street. The gang members also like to buy his hot dog as breakfast, and he'll even give them a discount.
There aren't as many tragic and painful stories here as in Gotham. Most people are making a living while pursuing freedom, carefreely and indulgently, just like the rock music often played in American road movies, exuding a unique sense of humor.
If the devil entered Gotham, he'd be stripped of several layers of skin by the organized and strict gangs. Then he'd be invited for a "talk" by the godfather and maybe even get a knock on the head from certain tight freak. Then the police would hold him down and send him to the asylum. There's no chance of leaving without paying.
But in Hell's Kitchen, if the devil comes here, the people rush at him with knifes and pans, chop him up, then fry him, boil him, then send it to oven, and maybe even have a grand cooking competition with dishes from various countries.
Everyone here is a cook. They don't have great cook skill, but almost everyone feels joy during the process of cooking devil.
Here is Hell's Kitchen, a place that pursues ultimate freedom, chaos, joy, and indulgence.
No one can be an emperor here, and no one is a savior. Even large gangs can't.
Everyone here and their way of life represent the ultimate rebellion against the dull ordered society. Here is the largest graffiti on the New York map, messy but colorful, and no one can erase it.