It was one of those scenes he knew he would never forget. The glint of silver from the blade, turning end over end, as it flew from The Joker's outstretched hand. Shayera's scream, piercing the air with a terror that immediately chilled him to the bone. And the blood. So much blood. The sharp contrast between the scarlet stain and the emerald fabric covering his teammate's heart.
Before he knew what was happening his hands were gripping The Joker's collar, blinding fury turning his vision red. His fist came down upon the starch white face. Again. And again. And again. He didn't stop until the mad man's laughter had ceased, replaced by strangled, whimpering breath.
Batman stood up, leaving the broken clown lying in a pool of blood, and numbly moved toward his fallen teammate. Shayera's body was crumpled forward, her auburn hair making a curtain around the face of the man whose head rested in her lap. As Batman approached her, falling to his knees at her side, he could hear her whispered cries.
Shayera lifted her head toward the sky, pleading to a power she scarcely understood as she continued to clutch the body before her. It was when she moved that Batman finally saw his face. Eyes frozen in a perpetual state of shock, John Stewart's lifeless figure stared back at him. Stared, but did not see.