The noise echoes in the garage, and the guards turn. The one who looks closest to the alarm goes down first, with a soft 'pop' as the rifle fires off.

Now they're on high-alert, searching for a sign of their intruder, shouting briefly to one another. Breathe. Reload.

The second shot catches one guard in the thigh and sends him sprawling, and any effort by his companion behind him to bolt ahead is hindered by the sudden and urgent need to not go flying over his collapsed form and face-first into the concrete. One more, sparing the flailing man but catching the third before he can enter the booth to hit the alarm.

Then Locus is on the move to take out the last, who'd just turned to see his last fellow fall...and was presenting his back. Foolish. He deserved what was coming to him.