Banshee (Cyberpunk RED PC Backstory)

I'm going to preface this with a few trigger warnings, so please do not read any further if this kind of content is an issue for you! I don't think any of this gets particularly graphic, but there are mentions if not some detail of all of the below. If there's anything I've failed to mention, please let me know and I'll add it to the list.

TW: Sexual Assault/Coercion, Abduction, Non-Consensual Body Modding, Addiction, Death/Murder, Guns, Sex Trafficking, Domestic Abuse, Gore, Abuse of Minors, Mental/Emotional Abuse, etc.

I was born to Nicolette Gautier and that irrelevant asshole Marc Sparx (otherwise known as Mark Anthony Scott). Maman told me they were just two young idealistic punks that met not long after the Red, but he was an addict and she couldn’t have that sort of thing around me. They split when I was real little but the deal was if he got clean, he could come home. Thing was, I never got to know him and he never bothered to get clean, so I don’t really give a damn about him. Maman named me Camille Gautier, but I don’t go by that anymore. I’m not that girl anymore, as much as I would like to be.

I grew up as well as anyone could in a megastructure. Maman always did the best by me that was possible, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that. It was boring and we were poor like most people in Night City, but I was always safe with her. I miss that feeling of trust I used to have, the feeling that the people who cared for you would never do you any harm.

When I was a teenager, I got into this stupid phase where I thought that if I was just like my dad, maybe he’d finally come around and want to actually try to be a father to me. It was a dumb dream, but how would he ever be able to ignore me if I became a famous rockerboy just like he’d been? Besides, I was like 12 or 13 when I got that idea. I was just a kid. I wanted to learn to dance and sing, so I’d practice with my friends or all by myself. I wasn’t very good, seeing I had no professional training, but I’m sure it was impressive enough for a teen girl.

I had a fight with Maman one day over something stupid one random ass day when I was 15. It was so petty and dumb that I can’t even remember what it was now. I decided to go cool off about it at a friend’s place for the night and her megastructure was just a block away. I wish I never went that night. I was walking too close to the entrance of an alleyway and I hadn’t noticed that someone had likely been following me. I was too caught up in feeling sorry for myself. Some local member of a smaller gang that I’m pretty sure doesn’t even exist anymore pulled me off the street and into the alley. I have a blank from that point until about what I think was the next day. 

The local gang didn’t hold onto me very long, quickly putting me up for auction at The Fade. They sold me off to some scumbag who was capitalizing on the “fresh meat” fetish niche. He kept doped up most of the time, same with all the others at that skeezy spot. I don’t remember much from that time. I was there for about 3 years. 

I hit 18 and I guess I was “too old” for those freaks into the whole “fresh meat” thing. Funny how perverts who are into that “untouched” and “clean look” crap seem to often like ‘em young. Either way I started to age out. Besides, I’m sure my health beginning to deteriorate from keeping me high all the time was going to make me an expensive asset to hold onto. So, back to The Fade I went.

It seems there’s an aftermarket for joytoys like I was because we make for easy customization. No cyberware and you’ve been captive for long enough for no one to look for you? A perfect candidate for someone looking for their very own personal toy. Of course, I didn’t know that then. I thought I might just change hands and be stuck working under yet another local group. 

That time at The Fade was when Vance Laplace found me. I remember it so clearly. Probably because it was one of the few times I was distinctively fully sober. Meat doesn’t sell as easily when it’s barely coherent. 

He looked like he had walked right out of some practically ancient film from 100 years ago. I eventually learned that he was obsessed with mobster culture from roughly around that time. With graying temples and his tailored old-fashioned suits, he was definitely on the older side. How old though, I could never tell. His face didn’t really give away a specific age. He never told me either, so I don’t think I’ll ever find out. I’ll admit it though, he always was damn handsome in that way older guys can be. There was a point where I really did like him, you know.

He came up to me and the other poor young things up for purchase with some of his cronies trailing after him. Everyone around gave him a wide berth. He looked all of us over, but he came up to me and cupped my face in his big hands to really look me over. He smiled so sweetly at me and he told me that I looked just like a beauty from another era and he was going to get me out of there. I thought maybe he was saving me in some way, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

He took me home and initially he was real sweet on me. He didn’t push me to do anything, just took care of me while I recovered from the shit I had been through. I had an addiction to kick and I was malnourished, so he shelled out for pricey treatments for me to get over all that quick. I was a little enamored with him, mostly because he took care of me when I hadn’t been taken care of like that in a while. He encouraged me to call him Daddy and told me how pretty I was. He said I had the face of an old movie star from back when people had more natural faces. But then he sent me to get a slew of cosmetic mods done. Of course, Daddy didn’t tell me that. He lied and said it was something else for my health. They put me under and got it all done in one go, so I basically woke up with a body that I hadn’t signed up for.

The Techhair, EMP Threading, and Shift Tacts were kind of cool, I had to admit. The AudioVox was something I had wanted growing up even. I had never asked for them though, so that was a big issue for me. On top of that, there were things that I hadn’t wanted and things that were far more invasive than that. He had Bodysculpting done on me so I lost my hip dips, my rack got a lift, and they took another inch off my waist. All my body hair was lasered off. They even fixed up my teeth so I had a pristine smile. He got me Chemskin so my already pale skin was permanently a flawless porcelain. He didn’t want my face done besides the Threading, though. Guess he still liked my natural face, even if he apparently didn’t like the rest of me enough to leave it be. The worst things were the Midnight Lady and some kind of device that hurts like you wouldn’t believe at the press of a button. I don’t know where the fuck that thing is in me, but Vance has a fucking button in his hand for it and it was easy to figure out that it only worked on me.

Fresh from the Ripper Doc, obviously I wasn’t aware of that nasty torture tech, but I was still upset by the changes. He smoothed it over with a lot of sweet talking and romance though. Daddy always called me all kinds of pet names like “kitten,” “babydoll,” “princess,” etc. He started coming onto me hard after he had me set up the way he wanted. Before, it was a little flirty but mostly he seemed concerned for my well-being. Once he knew he’d have full control over me he convinced me into letting him stuff it that night. 

I think that really set the tone for the whole thing. He’d do what he wanted with me and then kind of apologize with a lot of loving before ultimately stuffing it whether I wanted it or not. Daddy was certainly a very important man in Night City and he wanted me to complement his status by being a perfect piece of fuckable arm candy. He had me learn to sing like one of those lounge singers from way back and dance like a burlesque girl. I’d perform for smaller crowds, usually guests of Daddy’s that he was trying to sway or keep up his connections with. He loved all the cheesy glitz and glamor though, and he wasn’t afraid to pay for it. I had a fully custom wardrobe that I had some say over. Only major rule was that besides my lip color, I couldn’t wear red. Daddy said it was a color for whores and I wasn’t a whore. I was like a walking example of period-piece costume design. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that there were parts of it that I loved. He spoiled me and he could be really funny when he wanted to be. Daddy always took good care of his people. I had good health insurance, great food, and most importantly, I was always protected.

One time, I was along with Daddy for some business-related meet-up and it turned into a goddamn shoot-out. A thing to note though, was that all of his suits were really functional because every last one was fucking bullet-proof. The minute shots started firing, he took off his jacket and draped it over me to shield me. It was so heroic, you know. He was like, what’s that old phrase again? Oh yeah, he was like my knight in shining armor. Except his armor was bullet proof suits. You get the idea. I was his girl and he wasn’t going to let anyone touch me. No one could make a pass at me or lay a hand on me without Daddy flipping out on them. Some creep once pinched my ass when I walked by and Daddy made sure he lost his hand that same night.

Of course, there was one thing Daddy never would protect me from, and that was himself. I found out what that button did a couple days after he had me modded up. He was trying to get me in bed again and I made the mistake of saying no. He got a dangerous look in his eyes before telling me that I really didn’t mean that and I was going to strip for him that minute. I refused and he pressed the button. I never made that mistake again. Daddy always gave me a chance to correct myself at the very least. He didn’t seem to relish using it, but I learned that whenever he corrected me I needed to apologize and never ever make that mistake again. If I did, I wouldn’t get that second chance the next time. Everything Daddy wanted from me, he got, no matter how I felt about it.

I got used to living that way, making sure everything about myself was just the way Daddy wanted it. He was a busy man though, so I often was on my own in his big, empty place. I learned to be friendly with all his other people at least just to have anyone else to talk to. I got really close with his driver, Alice Alban, a Solo with short brown hair, lots of Light Tattoos, and always in a flashy looking suit. We got close because Daddy sometimes sent me home by myself. I used to think that she just felt bad for me, not really having any friends of my own. There was another reason for her kindness I later found out, but not one that I minded. We knew each other for about 3 years I think when she finally confessed her feelings. She pulled over the car one night taking me home and not looking at me, she told me I was gorgeous and Vance was an idiot for treating me like he did. I remember I asked her what she meant before she entirely shattered my view of him.

She told me how often he saw other women, it seemed to be all casual stuff, but it still hurt all the same. He was my whole world then, you know? The next day when he came home he found me waiting for him with his antique pistol trained on him the moment he opened the door. I made him swear the other girls didn’t mean anything and he smooth-talked his way right into getting close enough to me to wrestle the gun out of my hands before pressing that damned button. He was really angry with me, shouting at me for being a stupid bitch and saying he’d do whatever he pleased. I think he genuinely broke my heart that day. He started to really see his flaws after that, but I was damn sure to never show it. I still had to survive.

She definitely got what she wanted though, as she became a shoulder to cry on. I spent every moment away from Daddy with her. I felt a lot different about her than I ever did him, I almost loved him because I didn’t have a choice. With her, I got to know myself better and I started to wonder who I really was underneath all of Vance’s preferences. I felt safe again with her. We’d take his car on long night drives, just me and her as we spent the whole time talking. At some point we started to get brave, and she took me out for little dates, avoiding places we might be recognized so word wouldn’t get back to him. I suppose we weren’t careful enough, though. After a couple of months, he must’ve found out one way or another.

Alice had just dropped him off and he was supposed to be gone all night, so she took me over to her place. He was waiting there for us, with a few other people. They grabbed us and Vance went on some crazy rambling rant about loyalty and traitors before they pushed Alice to her knees. Vance put a gun in my hands and stood behind me, making me aim it right between Alice’s eyes. He told me to really take it in, since it would be the last time I would look into them. She whispered a hurried “I love you” while she looked up at me. I started crying and I couldn’t stop, his hands over mine as he forced me to pull the trigger. It was the worst sound I’d ever heard in my life and I swear the sound of that shot still rings in my ears sometimes at night. 

Bits of her splattered on my dress and Vance just laughed, saying that maybe I did look good in red after all. I knew what that meant. He let me wear red after that point, just to let me know what he thought of me. I was put under a stricter watch, never being left alone with less than two people and never out of sight. Otherwise, things largely went back to normal with Vance once he felt I’d proved he could trust me again. One thing was different this time, though. I didn’t feel the slightest bit of love for him at all anymore. I hated him with every fiber of my goddamn being. 

I played the part and never let him know that anything had changed for just under 2 more years. That’s around when he got arrested. He’d gotten too cocky and the Corps weren’t happy about it. I heard later that they nailed him on some small charges just to make a statement. During the chaos of the arrest everyone forgot that silly little rule about people watching me at all times. I was totally by myself in Vance’s room, so I grabbed whatever valuable shit I could grab along with some important-looking data chips and the fancy vintage Colt 1911 .45 he got done up with a goddamn pin-up of me on the handle. Once I had all that, I booked it. I was still in a goddamn slip and robe, but I didn’t give a damn. I called in  a Delamain cab and I never looked back. 

I settled myself in the Watson Development and made a name for myself as a low-level local Fixer. I learned from the best, and dear Daddy had been a pretty good one until he made the mistakes that landed his ass in jail. I got good at debt collecting, and I got even better when I learned how to use my AudioVox and fashionware to spook the shit out of people. They started calling me “Banshee” because of the way I’d scream and make them think a goddamn cyberpsycho or something was coming for them. That, and a messy little job that I took where I ended up going after some poor family because it turned out the original debtor was dead. 

At first, I didn’t want to kill anyone ever again after what happened to Alice. She still haunts me. I learned pretty quickly that you have to kill to survive, though. I’ve never been a very strong girl and people tried to take advantage of that. I’d do anything just keep my independence, no matter how many bodies I’d have to walk over. So, I got over it. But whenever possible, I try to maim people instead. Nothing’s a better advertisement than a pretty expensive facial scarring to have to get cleaned up.

I got myself some good functional cyberware with the money from the valuables I sold and I’ve been living off the cash since. I haven’t sold the gun or the chips yet, just because they seem important to keep. I’ve run towards the end of my funds though, so it’s looking like I’m going to have to hustle a whole lot harder.