The red marks moved, weaving through the maze, drawing closer. I crouched down, hiding, shotgun ready. The moment the first guard’s head appeared in the corridor, I slid into S.A.T.S. and opened fire. The slaver guard went down hard, bleeding from a hole torn in her throat. The second was right behind her. I put the only other shot I had into her face, centered on her left eye. Then I discarded the lever-action shotgun and galloped ahead.