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Chapter 81: | Travel Notes of Hells Kitchen

In the early morning of New York, a beam of light shone through the gap in the curtains, waking up Schiller who was still asleep with the voice of the symbiote.

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

Schiller helplessly sat up from the bed and said, "You're still hungry?"

The symbiote didn't respond to him, just humming to himself. Schiller got up and washed up, and the symbiote asked, "Aren't they coming?"

"Who?"

"Those brains."

So in your eyes, superheroes are just brains? (XD)

But if you have to say that, there's no problem, after all, there aren't many superheroes in which the brains are a major component, 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 brain first, and save the brown-eyed one for tomorrow..."

Schiller realized that the symbiote really was hungry. He constantly conveyed a feeling of hunger to Schiller's mind through his brainwaves, making Schiller feel a bit hungry too.

He went to the kitchen first, opened the refrigerator door, and took out some chocolate to eat, but the symbiote didn't stop calling out for food at all.

What puzzled Schiller was that he had spent quite some time in the DC universe this time. As a result, on the night he met Godfather, he was almost delirious with exhaustion.

Schiller was not someone who needed a lot of sleep. When he was working, he relied on coffee to stay alert, and he could get by with just four hours of sleep a day. This state could last for a week, and he didn't feel tired at all.

But on the day before he came to the Marvel universe, he had only slept for one day because he was with Gordon, and he was full of fatigue and sleepiness. This made Schiller think about his ability to travel between two worlds, where did this ability come from? What are the limitations?

After thinking for a while, Schiller realized that he couldn't get any answers from the existing clues, so he decided to solve the symbiote's hunger problem first.

The symbiote wanted brains to eat, and Schiller didn't 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. Besides, although Hell's Kitchen wasn't as notorious as Gotham, it was still possible to find some extremely wicked thugs.

"Would you bite someone's head off?"

"Do you want me to do that?"

"No, of course not. You should know that there is etiquette when dining. We can't be so bloody and uncivilized. You can just crawl into their heads and eat their brains, but don't make a mess."

"Okay, that works too."

He really wanted to bite off someone's head in one go!

Schiller thought that all symbiotes had a common ancestor, so they were surprisingly similar in certain aspects.

Schiller dressed up and went out, planning to wander around Hell's Kitchen and see if he could come across a few unlucky robbers.

Although Hell's Kitchen was not as bustling and simple as Gotham, it was still decent.

As soon as Schiller walked to the corner store, he saw a person wearing a black down jacket with his hands in his pockets walking in. He could feel his emotions vaguely through their psychic connection. Schiller stared at him across the street, and sure enough, he took out a handgun from his pocket and pointed it at the store's owner behind the counter.

Schiller was about to walk over when he saw the store owner take out a larger gun from under the counter, pointing it at the robber. The unlucky thief raised his hands slowly and backed away, then quickly ran out of the store.

Well, it seems like Schiller's luck isn't too bad. The first robber he encounters is an amateur and a foolish one at that. Attempting to rob in Hell's Kitchen with just a handgun, he's lucky he didn't get shot to pieces.

Schiller continued walking forward, crossing a small bridge over a drainage ditch, passing behind an old clothing store.

Hell's Kitchen is similar to Gotham in some ways. Despite the chaos and wickedness, with criminals everywhere, there is also a charming vitality and liveliness.

Not far from Schiller's clinic, there is a famous street known for its graffiti. The styles of all the buildings here are colorful and the structures of the houses look like they are made of stacked colorful shipping containers. The alleys are narrow and small, and the various storefronts are filled with retro styles from the 1930s. Even the hotdog stands have shack-like structures made of metal sheets, covered in exaggerated colorful graffiti.

One cannot deny that this vibrant and colorful style appearing in such a slum area seems absurd upon careful consideration. However, it looks harmonious and full of sunshine and energy, much different from Gotham.

If there are too many people in Gotham City who are trapped by evil and sin, and too many souls struggling to survive through crime, then in Hell's Kitchen, there are also many rebels who do not want to be bound by society and actively flee from order. They live here freely and happily, bringing a unique vitality to this place.

As the griddle sizzled, Hotdog flipped over the hot dogs. The young man, wearing a orange and red apron with brown skin and blue eyes, raised his shovel and turned his head quickly to scoop up some french fries. He said in a cheerful Mexican accent, "Do you want to try my special Chili pepper? It'll keep you awake all day! No charge!"

"You're from Mexico?" Schiller asked as he stood in front of Hotdog's stand.

"If I told you I was a born and raised American, you wouldn't believe me, but that's the truth. My mother brought me over illegally when I was very young. We crossed the border."

The Mexican guy's tone was always cheerful, just like the way he made Hotdogs, with a hot and spicy South American flair.

"She's working at a garment factory on the east side of Manhattan now. I've always liked to cook since I was young. I inherited some good cooking skills from her. Gonzalez family's Hotdogs are definitely the best in all of Hell's Kitchen! You won't find a more authentic Mexico Hotdog anywhere else!"

"But isn't Taco the specialty of Mexico?"

"Forget it. You Americans can't handle corn tortillas. I used to make some Tacos, but nobody bought them."

"You can make them? Then give me one. When I traveled to Mexico before, my favorite was Corn roll and Avocado soup."

Gonzalez snapped his fingers and showed a warm smile. "You have good taste. Gonzalez family's Corn roll is also the best in all of Hell's Kitchen!"

As he spoke, he began to prepare the ingredients for Corn roll. Several children ran over kicking a soccer ball, smelling the aroma, and surrounded the Hotdog stand. Gonzalez waved his hand and said, "We don't have fried corn chips right now. Come back later."

The children stretched their necks and looked around. They realized that there was nothing they wanted to eat, so they kicked the ball and ran away. Gonzalez flipped the corn tortilla while saying, "These little rascals come over every day asking for corn chips. They can finish a big bucket of corn chips in a matter of minutes. But come to think of it, I was like that too. I always felt like I couldn't eat enough when I was a kid..."

"Are they really hungry?"

"Of course not. The black kid who led them, his dad is a freight driver in Hell's Kitchen. Whatever is left on the truck is enough to feed their whole family. The rest of the kids' parents also have decent jobs, so they shouldn't have any problems getting enough to eat."

"Although the slums in New York are chaotic, they are much stronger than those in Mexico. Most people here can eat their fill."

Soon, the hotdogs, tacos, and soup were ready. Gonzalez was very skillful and packed everything up quickly, as if performing a splendid acrobatic feat. He then handed it to Schiller, who paid and left more tips. Gonzalez was very happy and tapped the table with his spatula, saying, "You're a friend of Gonzalez's family, and next time you come, I'll give you a discount!"

Schiller waved to him and continued walking along this graffiti-filled street after leaving.

In fact, there isn't much criminal activity during the daytime in Hell's Kitchen. The sunlight shines on the strange and distorted buildings, creating more beautiful light and shadow than the neatly arranged buildings on the streets of New York. Electrical wires stretch above the head to the distance, and all kinds of fancy motorcycles and paint cars are parked in stacks in narrow alleys. You can still hear children's laughter and screams in the distance.

Schiller found that, like Gotham, although this place was chaotic, it had its unique vitality.

If Gotham has many people with no choice, many of the people in Hell's Kitchen haven't been abandoned by society; they have abandoned the orderly society.

Similarly, the gang hierarchy here is not as strict as in Gotham. If this had happened in Gotham, the guy who just rushed into the convenience store to rob would be asked which gang he belonged to, which street his gang was affiliated with, who his immediate superior was, and whether he wanted to start a war. It might even lead to a small-scale gang war.

But Hell's Kitchen is different. The bosses here don't care which gang you're from. If you dare to rob, be prepared to face a hail of bullets. No matter who you are, they will pick up their guns and defend their territory to the death.

In a way, the people here are more straightforward. Despite the friendly service from the Mexico Hotdog guy, Schiller saw two big guns behind his hotdog cart. If any foolish gang dares to rob him, Gonzalez from Mexico will definitely show them the warmth from Mexico.

But at the same time, Gonzalez is also willing to accept protection money from the gangs on this street. Gang members like to come to him for breakfast, and he even gives them discounts.

There are not as many tragic stories in Hell's Kitchen 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 often heard in American road movies, exuding a unique sense of humor.

If the Devil came to Gotham, he would be stripped layer by layer by the well-organized gangs, then invited to have a "talk" with the Godfather, perhaps even get a knock on the head from some guy in a tight suit, and then be sent to a mental hospital by the police if he doesn't pay.

But in Hell's Kitchen, if the Devil came here, the people here would grab their pots and pans and swarm him, chopping him into pieces before frying, stir-frying, and deep-frying him, and even have a culinary competition of various cuisines from different countries and races.

Everyone here is a cook, and their culinary skills may not be outstanding, but almost everyone can feel joy in the process of cooking up a devilish dish.

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

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

The people and their lives here represent the ultimate rebellion against the boring and orderly society, making this place the biggest graffiti on the map of New York, messy and colorful, impossible to erase.

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM