It's not enough. Without a cannon to signal when she can stop, Venus has to certify that Mouse is dead. That he isn't going to wake to a hell of broken bones and brain damage.

She lifts the robot over her head and brings it down again and again and again, until blood and bits of bone spatter the stairs and dribble down the rails. The splintering and smacking sounds echo up the stairwell like yells inside a throat.

When she's done, she's covered in gore. She sets the robot aside, taking a deep breath. Mouse's head is a splatter with a a hemisphere or bone lolling against the floor. She doesn't have eyes to close.

She takes off her hoodie. She drapes it over him and straightens it, pats him.

"Wake up in the Capitol, man." She presses a button on the robot and it starts to clear up the mess.