The voice was calm and clear, its composure setting her teeth on edge. Like a bucket of ice water poured from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet, it washed away every last trace of warmth left by the illusion.
She looked around.
On the eastern side of the plaza, The Flash, Barry Allen, lay faceup on the shattered marble pavement. His red-and-white bodysuit was covered in ash and rubble, his limbs splayed out, his pupils mostly unfocused. His chest rose and fell faintly, but his eyes were clearly failing to focus.
He had fallen into a deep coma.
Cyborg, Victor Stone, knelt beside Batman, fragments of his half-mechanical body's metal armor scattered across the ground. Thin wisps of smoke still curled from the muzzle of the Plasma Cannon on his right arm. The lights in his cybernetic eye flickered in a jumble of noise, like a computer still rebooting after its underlying protocols had been forcibly overwritten.
His programming had descended into chaos.
Superman knelt on one knee in the center of the plaza, on the scorched ground ravaged by red sun radiation and kryptonite. Most of his blue-and-red suit was torn apart. Dark red blood still seeped from the blackened wound in the front of his thigh. Doubled over like a shrimp, he braced both hands against the ground and forced an almost inaudible growl from deep in his throat.
His thigh had been pierced clean through, and he was severely weakened.
Yet fierce fighting spirit still burned in his eyes!
Batman lay facedown amid the rubble at the rear of their formation, where Cyborg had brutally beaten him. Most of the front of his dark gray armor had shattered, his mask was completely gone, and ash and blood covered his face. His right