! REVISED !
The previous version of this story was liked alot--- loved even. So, instead of giving an update, I am revising each of the current chapters. The chapters revised will say (who would have guessed?) 'REVISED' at the beginning.
Why am I revising? It's the simple fact of summer vacation, and I am rereading both this fanfiction, and the books, and I was like "Wow. I just got an idea". Then I banged my head meaninglessly against the keyboard and began editing this story with a straight-forward view of the plot, the people, and the drama.
So, bare with me, reread if you must, because there will be a few plot changes. And I might change the title. Keep a lookout. :) Till then!
Old pre-story comments worth keeping: Well, since Christmas is coming and all, I thought it'd be a neat idea to incorporate Artemis during the holiday. It's after The Eternity Code so our prestigious boy genius has forgotten everything of the fairies. But what has the Mind Wipe really taken away? More than a few memories, that's for sure.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1 --- Genius
Patience. Artemis Fowl the Second needed a good deal of patience to listen to the jabbering History teacher. Everything this nutcase teacher could teach him, he very well already knew. In fact, he could bet the Fowl's legacy that he knew almost everything there was to know. And that was perfectly insane since the Fowl legacy meant as much to him as his own life.
It might have even meant a little more.
But this teacher insulted his genius by her small chatter about the odds and ends of myths and legends. Grecian gods didn't exist. He could prove that on seven scientific and researched studies, and that was just off the top of his head! Could the class be any more nonsense?
Yet Mrs. Fletcher proved him wrong when she flipped out a petty book of fairies and assigned them homework. On Leprechauns. Could there be a worse use for his smarts? No? Thought not.
No, instead Artemis inspected his expensive oaken desk. Saint Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen had a strict code that had to be followed. Non-toxic markers, mechanical 0.5 pencils, BIC ballpoint pens, crimson and gold uniforms, uncomfortable creaky loafers . . . and the regulated cut-down-the-oldest-oak-tree-you-can-find-to-make-a-desk-out-of-it desk.
What a waste, sincelittle stick figures on the topsidewaged all-out wars with bazookas and rabid squirrelswhile alien races of gumhuddled underneath it --- along with small cheats and on Artemis's desk, the breakdown of the atomic molecular structure. What? No one ever said he didn't get bored.
"So I expect a ten-page report on the history of Leprechauns by Monday morning, children!" that wretched whiny voice shrilled.
A measly ten pages? Hardly worth the effort on such meaningless nonsense. Most of the other teenagers in the class agreed with Artemis. Except for the one wise-guy.
"Can we write about trolls instead?" quipped the brash redhead. "Leprechauns are so overrated."
"Nope," Mrs. Fletcher was like a stone wall. She would never budge from her stupid ideas. "Leprechauns, Mr. Knotts, or you will see yourself failing my class. Again."
No backing out of this assignment, Artemis grudgingly thought as he tapped his pencil on his desk. Why not the first mission to the moon? Or unspecified life on Mars? Or even an article about Kris Kringle? Those sounded more convincing than Leprechauns. Everyone knew they didn't exist, only a select few idiots still believed in Santa Clause.
So for the next thirty minutes of class, Artemis resulted to staring out the window trying to unravel the mysteries of life --- or more importantly, that looming shadow inching ever-so-slowly to the three interval on the clock. If only the impending threat of a certain holiday was not looming over his head. Christmas.
Why was this jolly holiday so troublesome? Why did this holiday have to be so concrete? So heavy? Busy malls. Rushing people. Greedy children (not like Artemis could confide himself to this). Troublesome traffic and decisions on what locket would look best around Angeline Fowl's neck. There were Aunts who pinched his cheeks and Uncles who showed him the 'ropes' on spitting twenty yards into a pan. Artemis would likely disappear before his Uncle's demonstrations.
Hopefully, his mother canceled the celebrations for this year as well. Maybe. Just maybe.
"Artemis?" the teacher called again, arousing the boy genius from his thoughts. "Child, are you alright?"
Artemis nodded grimly, "I'm fine Mrs. Fletcher."
"Oh, then," Mrs. Fletcher had a special way about her. She knew when people lied. With a crinkly hand, she held the chalk in his direction. "Would you care to point out exactly where Tara is? And label please."
"Yes ma'am," Artemis set down his teeth-marked 0.5 mechanical pencil, pushed his chair back, and traveled down the row of boy-occupied chairs to the front.
Each boy followed with that cynical eye. Each mouth twitched in an anticipated grin. Master Fowl was up to bat, the strange one in the school; the one who sat in the back of the room and wrote in his journals explaining the world while the other boys played games, learned, and laughed.
He was the loner. The one always left to fend for himself.
Artemis picked the chalk from his teacher's hand monotonously, glanced back to the grinning faces, and did what he was told without flaw. And as he wrote, he felt every eye twitch with each tap of the chalk, but he kept himself from squirming. Artemis kept that businesslike composure his father always surrounded himself with.
Even the snickering in the background did not bother him. It couldn't. He was Artemis Fowl the Second, the son of a notorious businessman. (Even if that notorious businessman had grown a heart overnight.)
Then with the relief Artemis had bottled into his chest, the bell rang for school to let out for Christmas Break and the boys thundered out of the classroom into the flooding hallways. Even though the stampede, he heard the whisperings. And held his composure.
As he watched the last boy leave, he finished quickly and handed the piece of scrubby chalk to the teacher. "Your map is drawn off-center, a small fault to be overlooked. I had a problem outlining the exact perimeters of Tara. It might be off by a few centimeters. I hope it will do, Mrs. Fletcher."
The teacher mutely watched the boy walk back to his seat, gather his things, and slip his pouch over his shoulder. His mind ever-thoughtful, and his face ever-expressionless.
This was a true boy with talent. He could do great things in life if he had the motivation. Maybe she should have voiced that more often, maybe she should have told him then and there that he was an exceptionally brilliant boy with a future no one else could have dreamed.
Yet no one ever told him such. Never in his life.
That might have been why as he left the room, he wanted to throw his smarts away. Find a way to lock them up and keep them hidden. What was the use for smarts anyway? Why have them if you could be successful without?
But he couldn't complain. It wouldn't do any good after all.
For he was Artemis Fowl the Second, and no one could change that.
- - -
Artemis treaded from the classroom nonchalantly, not bothering to lock eyes with the other young men. This aroused the question of superiority. Did this genius actually think that he was better than they were? Obviously, said some. Most would go on their business, pretending him to be some harmless specter wandering the cursed hallways. Others stopped and stared.
Their eyes followed him carefully, almost curiously. Did he walk differently? Genius were known to be problematic and eccentric. Did Artemis Fowl have a disturbing fetish? Or was he just another posh, aristocratic mule like the rest of society?
Either way, they left him a vast amount of room in the hallway. They didn't want to contract his brashness. (They had enough already.)
As Master Fowl passed, a black-headed boy leaned over to his friend and whispered loud enough so that Artemis could hear, "See? I told you he walks strange."
The boy's redheaded friend chuckled. Artemis stopped his slow movement and shifted his eyes over to them as the redhead spoke. "You said he walks like a penguin, Duke. I think he walks like an ass."
That hit a nerve.
One of Artemis's thin black eyebrows twitched. His blue eyes flashed to the boy coldly, "Darren Knotts, correct?"
The redhead nodded dumbly, baffled that the boy genius would actually stop and converse with 'lower' homo sapiens.
"Utter another word and you will not find your precious tongue tomorrow morning. I promise." He grinned maliciously. Darren anticipated fangs to sprout from Fowl's gums. "So guard it well tonight."
Darren bolted his mouth closed and turned away. He nudged his friend and they kept on turning, down the hallway and out the exit doors.
Everyone knew Artemis Fowl did not joke. He couldn't joke. He meant every word, every syllable, every 'argh', 'hum', and 'Grnaaa!' And he surely had the power to enforce those soft-throated threats. Artemis Fowl did not have a bone in his body that could laugh, joke, or even smile. The bone had broken some while ago, in between the darkened memories he could not place and faces he use to could name, but never remembered.
Artemis's vampiric grin vanished as he turned his blue gaze downward as he began his trek through the hallway somberly. Not a word uttered. Not a breath breathed.
This was the terribly lonely power of Artemis Fowl.
- - -
Darren snickered at the edge of the school property with his friend. He was a rather tall fifteen-year-old with dark red hair and almost black eyes. The Prince of the Prep School. The ruler over all other boys at this academy, and the number one guy to date on this side of Dublin.
He was suave, cool, composed, and almost dirt poor. Everyone wondered how he could afford to go to Bartleby's. It was one of the most expensive schools out there, but he just waved the questions away and told them, "I got a rich uncle, dudes."
"Did you see that Fowl?" Darren snickered as they passed the privacy bushes. "It was priceless how pale he looked!"
Duke rubbed his pinky in his ear, "Hey, I wouldn't be laughing. He gave you a damn good threat. You know Arty and his threats." This young man was also rather tall; a gangly thing with shoulder-length black hair pulled into a loose ponytail and emerald green eyes. Cocky as hell too.
"Please, Artemis Fowl the Second couldn't touch a hair on my chiny-chin-chin even if he wanted to."
"Yah, but that butler of his looks mighty imposing." Duke made a rather good point there, but Darren never listened to common sense. No, instead the redhead made a snowball and chunked it across the hedges. Duke turned quickly just in time to see it sail towards Artemis Fowl. It missed. "You need a little practice, Mr. Perfect."
"Like you can do better," the redhead said sarcastically. Everyone at the school knew Duke had the best pitching arm on this side of country. He had transferred over from America three years ago, leaving a life of baseball behind. Darren watched Artemis with a critical eye. "Look at that kid. He has his nose stuck so far up his ass, he doesn't even care. Look at that, getting into his limo already? Aw, such a wussy."
Duke shrugged, "At least we won't have to see his ugly mug for two weeks."
"Pity."
"Not really. Hey, the Girl's School down the street is letting out. Care to grab some guys and perform operation Panty Tank?" asked Duke excitedly. The Panty Tank Operation. Aaah, one of the best boyhood memories. The one sport he could enjoy immensely with the risk of suspension, yet it thoroughly satisfied his fantasies. In fact, he wondered what type of underwear Julia Darlington wore today . . . and how far she would knock him. China maybe? Japan?
Darren grinned greedily, pointed teeth showing. "Ten-four. Operation P.T. is on the way!"
- - -
Slipping gently into the limo, Artemis loosened his crimson tie and leaned over the passenger seat to speak with Butler. The gears in his mind were turning, and the mechanism did not produce heartwarming images by any means. It was doing the exact opposite.
The boy sighed mutely, "Butler, is there any way you can ship me off to America for the Holiday? I would rather be with the crazy Americans than my crazy family. I honestly don't think my cheeks can take another pinching." He rubbed his left cheek, and remembered the gruesome bruise from last year.
Butler grinned, "Sorry Artemis, there isn't a force in the world that can save you from their wrath."
Artemis slightly whimpered and fell back into the backseat. No good in getting out of this year without another bruise, he thought sourly. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. There was a lot to prepare for. Presents. The mall. Family. Dinner. Carols . . . His eyes suddenly snapped open when he felt the barrel of a gun press up against his head. Blue eyes darted sideways.
There was a midget too small to be a midget standing in the seat holding a mean-looking blaster. It adorned a helmet, fine digital gadgets, and the most outlandish tinfoil-looking suit he had ever seen. A new fabric, he instantly realized, and thought it somewhat familiar.
Another little creature held another smaller gun to Butler's head. Strange, usually Butler would see something like this coming. Just that fact made Artemis wary of these familiar strangers.
"Artemis Fowl," the feminine voice said beside him. Alright, the elf beside him was a girl. He could figure that much out. The voice sounded familiar too . . . "Plotting trouble?"
The other creature sneered, his voice also subtly recognizable. "That Mud Boy always gets in trouble."
Did they know him? Of course not! Were they Santa's little helpers? Were his theories wrong about Santa? There was no way. Besides, the creatures helmets said 'LEPrecon'. What a strange name . . . But he felt like he knew the name, and the elf behind the mask.
One thing was for sure, Mrs. Fletcher's theories about little people were coming into focus clearer than he could imagine. A thought flashed through his mind. Of a city. Far below ground. Haven.
"What do you want?" Artemis asked levelly as the elf took the blaster from his head. "Thank you, but why are you here?"
Holly was stunned. He was so . . . well-mannered now. Even with that sinister glare and level tone. He wouldn't have said 'thank you' to anyone! Especially her. But oh, wait . . . he had forgotten. Her heart sank a little. This wasn't the Artemis she knew. Back to business. Her tone became laced with the mesmer. "We are here to check up on you Arty."
Artemis's eyelids drooped and he nodded like a bobble-head doll. Butler's eyes did the same, but he fell unconscious before Arty even succumb to the totality of the magic. Then finally, those intelligent blue eyes dulled to a beak, uninteresting black.
Holly almost felt sorry. "Now, Artemis, can you tell me what you have been plotting?"
"My mother's Christmas present," he replied levelly. "It's suppose to be a locket." Sleepily, he took a velvet box from under his seat and opened it. To Holly's surprise, it wasn't anything extravagant. Just a little antique locket, opened to reveal Artemis Fowl Senior, and Artemis Fowl Junior. Though, the pictures were all smiles and grins. "She's wanted one for years. It is very old and my father's picture and mine are in it. I hope she likes it."
"Anything else?" Just a locket? C'mon, Artemis had to be planning more than that!
"And . . ." a slight hesitation. It must have been a darker secret. Usually the mesmer never let a subject slip unless it was indeed deep. Very deep. Holly waited with grinning anticipation. " . . . And how I can be like everyone else."
Holly's grin faded within a moment; her heart almost stopped in its spot. She wished now with all her might that this conversation had not been recorded. It would embarrass him so much to know that the whole LEPrecon squad would hear this and ask in shock and laughing amusement as they celebrated the demise of a great mastermind, Artemis Fowl the Second wants to be normal? "Why?"
"They stare," his voice would have cracked if it held emotion, "they gape, they marvel, they whisper under their breaths and grin. I don't care, for they are juvenile boys, yet so am I. Why can't I ever do that? What's the use of being a genius? There are more cons than pros, and I am sick of them. I don't want it anymore. Take it away."
For a moment, Holly stood in silence as the mesmered Artemis stared placidly at her with those eyes that lied to so many people. Artemis Fowl normal? Could it be so? Holly could not imagine it, she liked Artemis the way he is --- or was before his Mind Wipe. Artemis Fowl was always as clear-headed as a sun-shiny day. She had to wonder as she spoke into her microphone, what caused this juristic change. "Heard that, Foaly?"
Silence. "I believe we have . . . sufficient evidence that Arty is not up to any foul things. Leave, and wipe, and report to Commander Root pronto."
Holly clenched her fists. She couldn't stand those navy eyes impaling her with nothingness. There was no spunk. There was no arrogance. There was nothing . . . and there was nothing before the mesmer took its hold.
The old Artemis had truly and undoubtedly been washed away. Forever.
"Foaly . . ."
"It's not our business what happens to the Mud Boy, Short," Root cut in abruptly. "Mind wipe and get out. That's an order."
"Yes sir."
Fwhaaa! So, did you like? Yes? No? Maybe so?