Shotgun like kick in the chest

Jensen had left Cali with ruined legs and figured that would be the last he’d see of him. He
hadn’t reckoned on the enthusiasm the Motor City Bangers had for elective
cybernetic augmentation.

Cali was wearing torn, bloodstained cut-offs that revealed his newest
enhancements. From the knees down, both his shattered legs had been
replaced by shiny, gold-plated augs that ended in skeletal, claw-like feet.
They matched the designs of Cali’s twin cyberarms, and he was grinning
like he’d been reborn, his weak flesh replaced with glittering metal.
He came stiffly through the door of the tavern, followed by a gangly kid
with a pump-action MAO shotgun and a third ganger carrying a giant,
heavy-caliber pistol that was far too big for his skinny frame. All the MCBs
drew down as one, and Jensen knew this was not a robbery, not a show of
force, but an execution squad.

Jensen shoved Henry away, down toward the bar, launching himself in
the other direction as he tore his pistol from the holster beneath his coat.
Lightning-fast, Jensen fired three rounds as he dove, and at least one shot
clipped the kid with a big semi-automatic. But Cali and the shotgunner were
already firing, filling the air inside the bar with hot, screaming lead, and
Jensen took multiple hits across his shoulder and upper arm that slammed
him off course. Jensen spun and fell across tables and chairs, crashing to the
floor among a rain of broken glasses and spilled beer. Pain shocked through
the muscle-machine interface in his bones, the ripple effect of the impact
over the polycarbonate implants like a kick in the chest. He took a
wheezing breath, tasted blood.

“I know you!” Cali was whooping and laughing as he sprayed rounds
from the machine pistol across the room, cutting down the other drinkers
who were too slow to take cover or flee through the fire exit.
Behind the bar, Jake perished as a shotgun blast blew him back into a
rack of liquor bottles. He toppled out of sight in silence, his sightless eyes
looking at nothing. The gunman who had ended him hunted for Henry
Kellman, who was scrambling desperately across the floor between the legs
of the bar stools. The MAO barked again and Jensen saw Henry go down in
a bloody heap.

“Done, man, let’s jet!” shouted the punk with the shotgun.
“No!” bellowed Cali, as his weapon ran dry. He ejected the drum mag
and let it clatter to the floor, jamming a new load into the ammo port.
“Where’s that hairy-faced fucker? I’m gonna smoke him!”

It registered distantly with Jensen that he wasn’t actually the one the
MCBs had come to kill, but Cali had no intention of leaving without taking
his scalp as a bonus. Jensen lurched forward, coming back to his feet
underneath a circular table bolted to the floor. Ripping the table’s central
support free, he took it up with him like a battering ram and slammed it into
Cali before the ganger could finish reloading. Without stopping, Jensen
used the broken table to flatten the shooter against the wall and knock him
down. Cali’s gun went spinning away, and Jensen pivoted before the second
thug with the shotgun could track to him. Blind-firing once again, he hit the
other gang member and sent him staggering away, out on to the street. The
kid with the big pistol had already fled without firing a shot.

- Deus Ex: Black Light, Chapter 8 pgs. 145-146