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TURNCOAT

Exotic / Energy / Hand Cannon

Pull the trigger. Feed your appetite.

Source: Rewards Pass

Exotic Perks

Latent Power

Latent Power

Dealing damage builds Latent Power; precision hits and final blows build more. At full power, hold [Alternate Weapon Action] to trigger Unleashed Power, empowering the weapon with increased rate of fire and hip-fire accuracy and causing shots to weaken targets. After a short time, it becomes Overwhelming Power, which deals damage to you over time. Reload or stow the weapon to end these effects.
Power Surge

Power Surge

Rapid hits charge your next shot into an explosive round that deals additional damage and accelerates power buildup on hit. While empowered, every shot is explosive.

Stats

Impact
84
Range
45
Damage Falloff  
Stability
51
Handling
52
Reload Speed
39
Reload Time  
Aim Assistance
77
Ammo Generation
39
Zoom
13
Airborne Effectiveness
22
Recoil
97
Rounds Per Minute 140
Magazine 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

Turncoat

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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