Artemis- Trapped in His Mind

Artemis was not gone completely. He was confined to a small virtual
room in his own brain. The room was similar to his Fowl Manor
office, but there were no screens on the situations wall. In fact, there
was no wall. Where his selection of gas screens and digital televisions
had been mounted, there now floated a window into his body’s reality.
He could see what the fool Orion saw, and hear the ridiculous
sentences dripping from his own mouth, but he could not control the
actions of the romantic nincompoop who seemed to be in the driver’s
seat, to use a motorcar reference that Butler and Holly would
appreciate.
In Artemis’s room there was a desk and a chair. He wore one of his
lightweight Zegna bespoke suits. He could see the weave of threads on
his arm and feel the material’s weight as though it were real, but
Artemis knew all these things were illusions constructed by his mind
to put some order on the chaos in his brain.
He sat upon the chair.
In front of Artemis, on what he had decided to call his mind-screen,
events played out in the real world. He winced as the usurper, Orion,
rolled out his clumsy charm.
He will utterly destroy my relationship with Holly, he thought.
Now he appeared to be treating Foaly like some kind of mythical
pet.
Orion was right about one thing: he was in the second stage of
Atlantis Complex, a mental illness he had brought on himself through
a combination of reckless dabblings in fairy magic and feelings of
guilt.
I brought the guilt on myself too, exposing my mother to Opal
Koboi.
Artemis realized suddenly that while he was trapped in his own
mind, numbers held no sway over him. Neither did he feel any
compulsion to rearrange the objects on his desk.
I am free.
A metaphorical weight lifted from his allegorical chest, and Artemis
Fowl felt himself again. Vital, sharp, focused, for the first time in
months. Ideas fluttered from his mind like bats from the mouth of a
cave.
So much to do. So many projects. Butler . . . I need to find him.
Artemis felt energized and potent. He surged from his chair toward
the mind-screen. He would push his way through, force his way out,
and send this Orion character back to where he came from. Next on his
to-do list would be to apologize to Foaly and Holly for his rudeness
and then get to the bottom of this space-probe hijack. His Ice Cube had
been torn to pieces by the subterranean river, but it could be rebuilt. In
months the project could be operational.
And when the glaciers were safe, perhaps he would submit to a little
regression therapy from one of the People’s less flamboyant
psychotherapists. Certainly not that Cumulus fellow who had his own
talk show.
When Artemis reached the screen, he found it to be less solid than it
had first appeared. In fact, it was deep and gloopy, reminding Artemis
of the plasma conduit he had crawled through at Opal Koboi’s lab all
those years ago. Nevertheless, he forged ahead and soon found himself
submerged in a cold, viscous gel that pushed him backward with
floppy fingers.
“I will not be deterred,” shouted Artemis, finding that he could
shout inside the mind-screen. “I am needed in the wide world.”
And then.
Deterred? Wide world? I am beginning to sound like that idiot
Orion.
This thought gave him strength, and he tore at the curtains of gunk
that kept him a prisoner. It felt good being active and positive. Artemis
felt like the Fowl heir of old. Unstoppable.
Then he spotted something in the air before him. Bright and fizzling
like a Halloween sparkler. There were more, dozens, all around him,
sinking slowly through the gel.
What were they? What could those things mean?
I made them, thought Artemis. I should know.
A moment later he did know. The fizzling sparklers were actually
tiny golden numbers. All the same number.
All fours. Death.
Artemis recoiled, but then rallied.
No. I will not be a slave. I refuse.
A tiny number four grazed his elbow, sending a shock through his
entire body.
This is a memory, nothing more. My mind is reconstructing the
plasma conduit. None of this is real.
But the shocks felt real. Once the tiny fours realized that he was
there, they gathered like a shoal of malignant fish, herding Artemis
back to the safety of his office.
He fell backward to the floor, panting.
I need to try again, he thought.
But not yet. The fours seemed to watch him, matching his
movements.
Five, thought Artemis. I need five to stay alive. I will try again soon.
Soon.
Artemis felt a weight settle on his chest that seemed too heavy to be
just his imagination.
I will try soon. Hold on, my friends.

- The Atlantis Complex, Chapter 5