Broken arm

Namir pushed in and caught his left arm — his human arm — in a steely vise.
Saxon cried out as the humerus bone snapped with a wet crunch, agony
tearing up his nerves in a burning wave. With a savage wrench, Namir
pulled him aside and threw Saxon at the fuselage of the flyer.

Unable to arrest his motion, the soldier slammed into the blunt prow of the black
helo and collapsed to the deck near the body of the dead pilot.

The pain was blinding, and the impacts from the storm of punches had cast
scatters of static across the vision field of Saxon's optic implants. He dug
deep, reaching for a last reserve of strength even as he knew he had
little left to give.

The attack at the airport, the fight with Hardesty, and now this...
Saxon was tapped out, running on vapors.

He heard Namir coming up behind him. "Time to end this," said the Tyrant
commander. "No more distractions."

And then he saw his last chance, lying there before him. He reached for it.

Anna choked back a gasp as Saxon struggled to his knees, trying to bring
himself back up from the deck. Namir stood over him, and cast a
quick, frosty glare toward her and the other Tyrants. "We fix our own
mistakes," he told them.

He turned back to meet Saxon as the soldier came up on one knee, releasing
a roar of pain and effort. Something metallic glittered in his hand
and he cracked it across Namir's face with brutal intent; a pistol, torn from
the holster of the dead pilot.

The mercenary was knocked away, blood streaming across his face. Saxon
rose, the gun in his machine arm, and he fired three bullets into

Namir's chest from close range. The shots would have killed a normal man,
but the Tyrant commander wore a tac vest lined with armor inserts,
and beneath that he carried dermal shell implants capable of stopping any
low-caliber rounds that made it through.

Barrett was shouting as Saxon raised the pistol's muzzle a degree higher and
laid his aim on Jaron Namir's head.

The big man's grip on her neck tightened again, enough to draw a strangled
scream from her lips.

"Saxon!" bellowed Barrett. "You kill him and the woman dies next!"

Namir lay in a heap on the deck, scarred and wheezing. He looked up, one
eye gummed shut, the other the bright lens of an augmented optic.
"Go on, then," he panted. He coughed up a string of bloody
spittle.

- Deus Ex: Icarus Effect, Chapter 15 pgs. 418-419