Typhoons Thorne

“Good.” Thorne’s pale face split in a wide smile, her lips reddening.
“That’s how I want it.” She exploded into motion, nerve-jacked and neuro-
accelerated reflexes boosted to their maximum potential, her muscle
implants forced to the red line.

Jensen sprinted down the car to meet her, boots clanging on the deck as
he closed the distance. Time slowed as fresh adrenaline flooded his veins.

He had one chance to take down his opponent; a wicked, twin-blade
slashing strike as they passed one another, like two ancient samurai on a
dueling field going for that singular, perfect cut. But Jensen had been beaten
to within an inch of his life, he had a throat full of blood-laced phlegm, who
knew how many busted ribs and the tiny motors in his augs were slipping
gears with each movement.

Thorne was at full strength, she was agile and ruthless, and she would
kill him.

The game had to change.

His implanted bio-cells had just enough charge for one final offensive
option, and a moment short of their paths crossing in the middle of the train
car, Jensen suddenly retracted his nanoblades and went down on one knee,
ducking his head and swinging up his arms like he was about to take to the
air.

Across the upper surface of his torso and his limbs, micro-miniature
ejector ports snapped open as one and expelled a storm of tiny spherical
explosive charges. Each one no larger than a ball bearing, they spun out
from Jensen, putting him at the core of a detonation that briefly turned him
into a human cluster munition. When David Sarif created this augmentation
weapon, he named it the Typhoon – and it was a deadly storm.

Flaming arcs of concussive fire spread like Icarus’s burning wings and
ripped apart the interior of the train car. Too close to stop her headlong rush
into the blast radius, Thorne took the force of the detonation wave and the
discharge tore into her.

Jensen rose, and against all odds, he realized she was still alive. Broken,
fluid sounds emerged from Thorne’s throat, forming into words. “This…
means… nothing. This is… not the war. Not even… a skirmish. A
distraction.” Her eyes stared blankly into nothing and her last breath was
spent mocking him. “They… still win…”

Thorne’s voice stilled, her ruined body slumped into an untidy, smoking
heap. Dying here, this was retribution for every pitiless murder she had
committed – but it didn’t seem like it was enough.

- Deus Ex: Black Light, Chapter 13 pgs. 227-228