21% Delirium
Legendary
"All right." —A Dark Age drifter
Item stats
  • 81
    Magazine
Primary
Impact
25
Range
50
Stability
52
Handling
39
Reload Speed
61
Rounds Per Minute
900
Hidden
Aim assistance
70
Recoil Direction
60
Zoom
16
Inventory Size
45
Weapon Perks
Rapid-Fire Frame

Deeper ammo reserves. Slightly faster reload when magazine is empty.

Polygonal Rifling

Barrel optimized for recoil reduction.
• Increases stability

Extended Mag

This weapon has a greatly increased magazine size, but reloads much slower.
• Greatly increases magazine size
• Greatly decreases reload speed

Overflow

Picking up Special or Heavy ammo reloads this weapon to beyond normal capacity.

Killing Tally

Kills increase this weapon's damage until it is stowed or reloaded.

Tracker Disabled

No tracker is displayed on this weapon.

Weapon Cosmetics
Default Shader

Restores your gear to its default colors.

Default Ornament

Restores your weapon to its default appearance.

Weapon Mods
Empty Mod Socket

No mod currently selected.

Masterwork

Maximized stats. Generates Orbs on multikills. Fitted with a kill tracker.

Lore
A Dark Age drifter stood against an oncoming horde. The stuff of nightmares. Quad-armed, mouths full of shining carnivore teeth, carrying weathered but fully functional armor and weapons. They moved as a mob, their boots kicking up clouds of dust as they advanced, blades glinting in the sun. "All right," he said, a quiet salute to his dance partners as he wove around sizzling Arc bolts, coat trailing him like a shadow. He might not walk away from this. But they definitely wouldn't. His Machine Gun spoke much louder than he did, over and over. He had never brought himself to shoot a human. Or anything even resembling a human. Risen included. But these were no Risen. No humans. He broke their advance like oil parting water, the repeating bloom of his heavy leading the way. A blue, viscous film covered the dirt, dust, and rocks when he was finished. "All right," he said, looking appreciably down at his smoking weapon. A trail of spent shells traced his path through his opponents' ranks. Hard to find a bite out here, most days. Every day. He wondered what they'd taste like.