To Live and Die in LA...
Delilah is my main squeeze. Whenever I’m out, I’ve got her on my hip. She’s got a smart-link and gas vents that I installed myself. Smart-links are amazing. They make you feel like you’re inside of the weapon when it fires, experiencing what it experiences. The vent, I don’t really like. It drops the recoil down to just about nothing. It feels fake to me. Augmented. Plastic. Not that I makes me love her any less, she’s the most beautiful machine I own. I put it on her. I blame myself. I generally keep her on my right hip as my go to weapon in the vast majority of scenarios in which I need to hand out punishment.
I like her because she’s a classy broad. Just as at home walking around with suits in some megacorps neighborhood as she is dropping thugs on some street corner slum. She fits the part wherever she is and no one really questions it. You walk around just about anywhere carrying some AK monstrosity like a lot of runners do and every Lonestar puke worth his pay check will stop you and ask what you’re plan on doing with it. No one bats an eye at a Predator. I live in a dangerous city. Protection is often necessary and Delilah is just that.