As he stood on the barren field, wolves howling at his feet, The headline flashed through his head yet again. He rubbed his face trying to rid himself of the horrid images of the twisted body, and his shaking hands as the ambush went horribly wrong, horribly fast. Robin's wide eyes peered back at him from the old memory wide with fear and hate screaming 'that it was his fault, that she was dead'. How his hands had been covered in her blood as he peeled off her mask and costume, somehow managing to pull himself together enough to substane the first superhero rule: no must ever know your identity no matter in death or living.
He closed his eyes breafly making sure he would never forget the women who gave her life to save the city, before biding the wolves farewell and disipearing in to the shadows. A newspaper blew across the field its headline reading "Joker Dead!" and an tiny article in the corner "Dead women found in alleyway"

Batgirl was dead.