Before we get to the story, I feel obligated to run down some stuff first.
Scourge of the Island, formerly (sometimes) known as Siege of the Island, was the first full-length fan fic I ever managed to finish. It was about Conker travelling to Timber's Island, randomly meeting up with his old friends and with Honker, and ending up back at his castle with Berri back to life. He didn't learn anything.
Conker and Banjo meeting up with their racing buddies from Diddy Kong Racing again after a long time sounds cool in theory, but it could've done so much better. And better it is. Almost four, maybe five times as long as the original, and the characters aren't just there, this time. I tried to give them all an important part in the overarching story, as opposed to them just being there.
This is also dedicated to my wonderful boyfriend. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be rewriting this. He's a big inspiration to me and I hope he will remain that for many years to come. Cheers, my love!
That said, I hope you enjoy the story – as much as I enjoyed writing it.
WARNING: Couldn't get all of it in the description, but the story contains violence, foul language, an almost attempt at suicide, (well... it is considered, but not actually attempted.) sexual references, bodily functions, implied naughtiness, and poorly transcribed movie references.
Prologue
It was so late that it could almost be considered early. The Cock and the Plucker was near closing time, but Conker barely noticed. The barkeeper thought that maybe he should coax the crowned red squirrel outside, but left him to his own. Tending to the glasses and mugs was more important for him at this point.
The smell of alcohol hung in the air and Conker could barely see a thing. His vision swam and wobbled before him, and the squirrel decided that maybe, just maybe, it'd be better if he had a toilet break. Fatigued by the alcohol, he stumbled over to the toilets.
He soon wished he hadn't.
As soon as he had entered the small room, he came face-to-face with himself in the most nearby mirror. And when he finally managed to focus, it was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
He just stood there, gazing into his reflection with that big crown on his head. Bloodshot eyes with bags under them. Scruffy, unkempt fur. This isn't me, Conker thought. This just isn't me.
"Look at you, big ol' blowhard," he muttered. "King of all the land. All the money in the world… and nobody loves you. They'd be better off without ya. You'd be better… better off dead."
He leaned on the sink and gasped, letting his tears soak his matted fur. He felt pain – pain from an impending hangover and pain in his heart.
What ever happened to that carefree young lad he was in his young years? The future held so much promise to that chipper red squirrel. He'd grow up and spend the rest of his life in a quaint little cottage with a lovely lady at his side.
But alas. He screwed up. He screwed it all up. He had his chance, and he blew it. There was no going back, no possible way for him to achieve closure. No way to achieve happiness again. The only one who ever loved him was dead, and he let it happen.
He just stood there, and let it happen.
…Ting.
Context sensitive. But… what was the context?
Out of hammerspace, Conker pulled a gun loaded with a single bullet. In a sickening moment, he felt his heart sink. He knew what this meant, why this was here. But yet, he didn't dare, didn't want to believe it. The gun felt so heavy in his hand. Much heavier than it actually was.
Hesitating only a little, he pulled it up to place the barrel against the side of his head. He swallowed. Looked at himself in the mirror. Blinked.
His reflection copied it all.
Everything was quiet and he had his finger on the trigger. He was on his last life. End of the road. Closure.
"I'm sorry, Berri…" he said. His throat stung with every word he said. "I'm so… so sorry."
His hand stopped trembling, and he swallowed again.
Nobody loves me… I'm nothing. I'm a nobody.
He couldn't care less about the kingdom of Windy. He didn't care about anyone who lived there. They just idolized the King, not Conker. If it were someone else, they'd revere him just as much. Would there really be anyone who'd care about Conker, and not the King?
A faint memory of his childhood crossed his mind. He didn't want it to, but it still did. He remembered himself, and, most of all, friends. It wasn't entirely clear who these friends were, but they were there. It seemed like a dream, but he distinctly remembered them.
They'd miss him. Even if they didn't care, they'd miss him.
In that same passing thought, Conker managed to collect himself and think straight again. The voices in his head had quieted down, not even a whisper anymore. He still looked terrible, but he managed to think clearly again.
"What am I doing?"
As unfitting as that crown looked on his head, Conker noticed some part of him hadn't changed. After all, through all the hardships, and everything he did, he was still Conker. His arm dropped limply at his side, his hand dropped the gun, and he went stumbling out the bar without saying another word to the barkeeper.
As soon as he went outside, he heard the rain much earlier than that he actually felt it. He swallowed again, and tried to not fall over. "Ugh… doesn't look too good tonight."
His tail dragged behind him through the mud, and he stumbled off into the darkness, the opposite of whence he went the day before.
The rain thoroughly soaked him and made it even harder to see properly. Conker felt it was okay for now. Because, at least, he'd live to see another day.