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ÜBERLÄUFER

/ Hand Cannon

Drück ab. Still deinen Hunger.

Quelle: Prämienpass

Exotic Perks

Latente Macht

Latente Macht

Wenn du Schaden verursachst, baust du latente Macht auf; Präzisionstreffer und Todesstöße generieren mehr davon. Wenn die Powerleiste voll ist, halte [Alternative Waffenaktion] gedrückt, um entfesselte Macht freizusetzen. Dies erhöht deine Feuerrate und die Präzision beim Schießen aus der Hüfte und führt dazu, dass die Treffer die Ziele schwächen. Nach kurzer Zeit wird daraus überwältigende Macht, die dir mit der Zeit Schaden zufügt. Lade nach oder stecke die Waffe weg, um diesen Effekt abzubrechen.
Energiewoge

Energiewoge

Schnelle Treffer laden deinen nächsten Schuss als Explosivgeschoss auf, das zusätzlichen Schaden verursacht und das Aufladen der Power bei Treffern beschleunigt. Während die Waffe verstärkt ist, ist jeder Schuss explosiv.

Stats

84
45
Damage Falloff  
51
52
39
Reload Time  
77
39
13
22
97
140
13
Selected Perks
Popularity: Overall Select 4 perks to see their popularity.  
Popularity: Perks  
Popularity: Trait Combo  
Popularity: MW Bonus  
Credits

Perk Playground

Perk Playground

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Lore

Überläufer

Pull the trigger. Feed your appetite.

Traitor. Irredeemable traitor.

"Shut up," Churnbower muttered. He clutched the handle of the weapon case tight, as if to choke the nightmare hidden inside.

Having regrets? Too late. I'm in your mind, Churnbower. I CAN SAY WHAT I WANT.

Churnbower stumbled, snatching his bandaged, bloody hand to his head.

That heat in your veins is me. You brought me to life. Can't get me out now.

"Shut up."

A tech approached him. "Director, are you OK?"

"Get back to your station," Churnbower snapped at her. "Or I'll write you up." Her face fell, concern replaced by anger. Other technicians looked over at the sudden outburst with surprise, curiosity.

You've caused a scene! Which of them will tell our Lord what you have done?

Churnbower's wounded hand throbbed. "No more," he moaned. Glyphs squirmed across his field of vision, echoing the hideous markings he had etched across this weapon. He whimpered.

Tithe to me again: Free me. Wield me and I will rid you of those gossiping mouths.

Churnbower ignored the weapon's voice, the waves of anxious nausea. He had to be brave. He stood before the banks of secure bins waiting on a softly humming cart, one of Tex Mechanica's distribution barges loaded with the day's shipments. He placed the weapon case in a bin, closed the lid, and punched in the recipient: Commander Zavala.

Oh well! Start running, traitor.

The cart slid away. The weapon began to laugh.

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