Please, please don't harass me, I'm stressed and tired, but I'll update just a little bit…I am sooo not checking to see who reviewed, I don't have the energy…. I've been sick, school is starting soon, I'm sorry.
Disclaimer: If I owned Artemis Fowl I would probably puke all over him so it's a good thing that he belongs to Eoin Colfer.
(I wrote that during the summer, now this is what I have to say: What the hell is wrong with you all! How can you like this story? It's stupid! I'm talentless! 49 reviews! I don't see it…)

Artemis tapped his fingers impatiently. He still had a lot of things he planned to do.

"Well, mother?" he inquired the cell phone icily. It was Friday and Butler was driving him home from St. Bartleby's.

"Well, Arty, dear," Angeline began in his ear, oblivious to his wincing at the pet name. "Your father and I would like for you to attend a concert with us this Sunday. We hear the orchestra's very good, and you really need to appreciate music, among other things."

Artemis sighed. "All right, mother, as it suits you."

"Thank you." He heard his mother hang up and he turned off his phone. Shaking his head scornfully, he leaned back in the seat and smoothed his hair down.

"Something wrong, Artemis?" Butler asked. Artemis glanced up.

"I'm going to a concert on Sunday," he said with disdain.

"Ah," Butler said in understanding. Artemis found comfort in his manservant's empathy.

"Mother wants me to," he went on.

"I thought you liked music, " remarked Butler. Artemis shut his eyes and then opened them again, impatient.

"Music is fine," said the boy, a crease of annoyance in his forehead as he rubbed his temples irritably. "But certain music…" He trailed off. He did not need to continue speaking. It was simple- he did not want to have his mother shoving those things down his throat, especially not then. He was busy. He was accumulating a fortune (illegally, of course) for the Fowl family- it was absolutely vital to his plans for future, which said he needed to be wealthy to have status, and to have money for funding other schemes, and if his father insisted on being 'good' all of a sudden, he was the only one he could count on to get this fortune.

When they got to Fowl Mansion, Artemis had to eat dinner with his parents in order to get up to his room. Normally he would not have minded, in fact he would have enjoyed the opportunity to listen to his father speak. But ever since his father had come back from the hospital, nothing he had said had made any sense to Artemis. From a certain standpoint, he supposed there was nobility behind the man's words. But this shell of a man, his father- he was not the man that Artemis had grown up to admire, to desire to impress. His head was full of thoughts of heroism, as though heroism would solve the family's financial situation. Artemis graduated the dinner table only with hopes of getting to his bedroom and checking his email. He had begun a correspondence with a wealthy man from South Africa, one who had begun sharing essential information with Artemis, not knowing who he was or his intentions, like most people who felt the need to brag. Artemis never felt the need to brag. People either recognised his intelligence and criminal genius, and were thus worthy of making fools of, or they didn't, in which case the world would be glad to be rid of them, jesters that they were. Arrogance could be one's undoing. Know thine enemy, thought Artemis, but know yourself first.

The other reason for Artemis' desire to get to his room was the fact that he'd recently taken up the habit of hacking into St. Bartleby's computer system and finding out what was being said of him. The teachers talked about him more than the other students did, which was not surprising in the least, as they were more juvenile than the other students were, and had many of the same problems. Artemis was above them all; that was part of why he so despised being forced among them.

Artemis entered his bedroom, which was dark, and turned on a light. It was not too bright; the young Fowl heir did not like to be blinded, which was one of the reasons he so strongly disliked being in direct sunlight. He made his way to his computer and sat down, turning it on. Waiting for the computer to start up, the boy looked around his bedroom in boredom. There seemed to be a slight breeze coming from one of his windows. Was a person going to get in? Was the window open?

What a silly thought…he nevertheless stood and made his way over to that corner of the room. Throwing aside the curtains, he peered out into the night air. How odd…there was no one there. But had he been expecting someone? Of course not, of course he hadn't. The boy shook his head and shut the window. No one could get in…he only let people in if they were invited.

The word sounded oddly familiar in his mind. Invited? Where had that come from? The girl Rebekah had obviously done something to his nervous system, with her jarring shouts and discordant laughter. If he had felt he had enjoyed her presence even once, that voice of hers had wrecked it beyond repair.

He went back to his computer and remembered a note he'd left himself on the desktop. Something about him getting the results from the man in Limerick in three days.

Three days…. a woman's voice, angry and disgusted, appeared in his head out of nowhere, her accent difficult to place.

"Three days? You could have killed me. What kind of…"

Artemis shook his head. What was going on with him? He took a deep breath and relaxed his wrists and fingers before going about typing as he checked his email. Thinking about that voice… it had deeply disturbed him, starting off a whole set of emotions he thought he had erased. The only thing that seemed erased to him was his memory. That surely was missing, somewhere along the way.

He was disrupted from his thoughts by a blinking on the screen: FILES CORRUPTED.

…What?

But that was what it said…had he gotten a virus? That was the only explanation. He could get rid of a virus. But it would take time, and to take time is to waste time. But who would plant a virus in his computer? He couldn't imagine who…he could, however, estimate based on scientific strategy.

In a moment of quick typing, he'd found the source of the corruption. An email. All that it said was…

"Yours Truly, A Hacker. Yours Truly, A Hacker. Yours Truly, A Hacker. Yours Truly, A Hacker…." And on for about a page or more of that. And the email had been sent to one "Arty". That was not his name. It was simple who had done it, really.

One Rebekah Woods. Artemis sighed deeply. He would need to flush out every last trace of the virus from his computers…