The Batman: The Grid Below.

I slipped through the narrow opening of the terrace door; my boots made contact with the ice-cold iron—wrought in a diamond pattern—of the fire escape. The air outside carried the scent of cold brick and exhaust fumes drifting in from afar. Moving across the metal grating, I gripped the iron railing—its paint peeling away—and leaned forward to observe. Several stories below, the streets of Gotham moved to a calculated rhythm: taxis coming to a halt at intersections, long evening shadows stretching across the pavement. From this vantage point, the entire city block revealed itself as a precise network of alleyways and access points. I remained at my post, committing the layout of the area to memory just as night began to fall.