You probably don't like Vibe, or think he deserves any sympathy or respect. "The breakdancing Justice League" is probably just a big joke to you.
But I don't care how you feel about the man ... this is really horrible. A tragic and undignified end to a man who rose above ghetto origins and early gang involvement by exploiting whatever natural talents he had, be they lighthearted, like breakdancing, or deadly serious, like the power to shake an entire city block from its foundations through psychokinetic force of will.
Brash and headstrong? Maybe. But you don't you almost have to be to put on a costume and take on crazed supervillains and alien conquerors? He could have become a supervillain himself, and although his own superpower was a supremely destructive one, he worked to use it to help others and better himself. I prefer to see him as a model of restraint rather than excess.
He was, as I've posited before, essentially a Golden Age hero, despite his Big Eighties' stylings. A bright costume of red, yellow, and green; a happy-go-lucky attitude of unbridled confidence toward fighting crime, to the point of foolhardy bravado; as likely to use his fists as his superpower; not much concerned with others' opinion of him and what he did. Like the Golden Agers, he never forgot that his "secret identity" was his real identity, never forgot that he was a kid from the streets ... who just happened to be in the Justice League.
And for that, he was killed. The man who caused his death hadn't ever even heard of him. Who he really was irrelevant. He just ... happened to be in the Justice League.
And when he died (at what, maybe 25 years old, tops?), there was no one there for him. No one to help. No one even to witness.
No chance to sacrifice himself saving the innocent, or the multiverse, or his colleagues. No noble fairwell speech.
Just a pair of mindless, hand-shaped vises, slowly crushing his windpipe until his corpse fell face down on a garbage-strewn sidewalk in the ghetto.