Marissa awoke suddenly from a dream, the room was night-black, and she listened for what might have woken her. The sickening feeling heaved in her chest, her throat becoming tighter like the last part of a swallowing reflex twitching on its own. Quickly the swallowing sunk lower as a force from her stomach began to rise. She had no time. Bounding out of bed, it took her a second to orient towards the hidden bathroom door. After bursting into the bathroom and flinging up the toilet seat, she was vomiting hard into the bowl of the toilet even as the bathroom lights finished brightening to life. She didn't have time to gasp or spit before her stomach muscles slammed tight and bent her head down to the bowl again. After the third vomit she was wondering if she might suffocate, but got a quick gasp of air before hot mucousey vomit burst out of her mouth again.

She remained kneeling in front of the bowl, taking little puffs of breath and feeling sweat prickle out of her skin as the stench of vomit circulated the small room. Wanting to rinse her mouth she slowly stood, but even as she straightened, her lower bowels gave a warning rumble and cramped. Quickly she fumbled with the unfamiliar zip at her shoulder before sliding out of her strange suit just in time to plant her arse down on the toilet seat and seal in the explosion. Very gassy and wet. It came in gut cramping gushes at about eight second intervals. Each wet explosion forced the queezy feeling in her stomach higher up her throat until she thought of the mess she would have to throw up into. The disgust at the idea was her last straw and brought her quickly to her feet, spinning around and aiming her vomit through the hole in the toilet seat. Everything reeked and combined with her wretched queeziness, causing her body to tremor and shake.

She flushed the toilet and then sat back down on it again. It seemed to take hours for her body to finish purging itself. Occasional runny dribbles from one end, empty promises of dry reaches at the other. All the while sweating like a sauna and shivering like she was freezing. When she eventually managed to stand in the shower, she was so exhausted that she let her back slide down the wall until she was a crumpled heap on the floor, hot water trickling all over her sensitive skin. She almost fell asleep and forced herself to stand. The bathroom reeked. She was still drying herself as she flopped into bed and dropped the damp towel on the floor. Her mouth was dry, but apart from rinsing it, she refused herself water to drink. Instead she let herself fall asleep to the gurgling of angry bowels.

By the time morning sunlight was streaming through her window, she had been out of bed for two more explosive episodes and the towel she wrapped around herself was still wet. Even so, a wet towel was better than a smelly suit. She opened her door and peeked out. Hanging from on a rolling clothes rack were six suits with accompanying briefs. Next to the rack was a small table with a jug of iced water, a fruit platter and a pot of tea with associated items. On a shelf under the table top rested a set of towel, hand towel, washer and soap. Everything she wanted, and because of this, she felt like Dr Precarious knew what sort of night she'd had. Though this could just have easily been standard fare. She rolled the clothes rack in first then brought in the small table before closing the door.

Now that she had a clean suit to put on she gave herself a proper shower with a good scrub before dressing and serving herself a cup of hot black tea. The fruit platter consisted of different types of melons, not even any lemon for her tea. She ate slowly, paying attention to the movements and grumbles of her bowels and stopped out of caution while she was still a bit hungry. The black tea was good and she sipped at the last of it as she put on her shoes.

Dr Precarious was sitting at his stone slab, an array of breakfast items, mostly finished, balanced neatly around him. He looked up and watcher her approach. She felt conscious of her rolling walk and it pleased her that even though she felt quite shaky, her steps were even and confident. He spoke as she sat opposite him, "You slept in a little this morning?"

It didn't seem like the question his tone of voice implied. As if he had been asking if she considered herself to have slept in or if this was to be expected of her in the mornings. "I had a rough night. It must have been something I ate for lunch."

"No, it was breakfast."

"You seem confident."

"Certainly. It was I who introduced the agent."

"But I thought I neutralised the agent. When I told you, you said 'good, good' and then you got me the acids I requested."

"True, I did say, 'good'. And I meant it. You performed well yesterday, showed potential and made good progress. I'm certain you're aware of the fact that I know the word 'excellent'."

"As sure as I am that you don't throw the word 'excellent' around whenever some novice achieves a bit of basic chemistry. But you let me think I had the correct answer."

"Of course. There would hardly be any value in letting you turn it into a guessing game where you propose any number of solutions and I say 'wrong' until I eventually say 'correct', would there?" They stared at each other for a moment before he continued. "And it would have been unkind for me to let you think I am playing the guessing game with you by letting you know of your first wrong guess, but then not letting you know of your next one. So best not to start at all."

"Where did I go wrong?"

"Two mistakes, one leading to the other, but don't feel bad. They are the most common mistakes in the world. The first was, you thought you had the correct answer and accepted it as fact. The second was that once you had a correct answer, you gave up looking for another correct answer."

"I was so tired. But you're right. Two big mistakes."

"Not so tired. In fact you've a rather robust constitution. You appear to have come out the other side of the agent's effects much earlier and far more vigorous than I'd expected."

"Did I get the chemistry wrong?"

"No, not at all. Your approach was good, but misguided. You were looking for a way to destroy a range of unknown toxins, and as for that you were on a good track. Unfortunately the approach you should have taken was to interrupt your digestive processes to stop any toxin being exposed and digested. I gave you a range of substances, all encapsulated in organic materials that would survive until the short bowel." He gave her a short nod, "As you deduced from my time predictions. The short bowel then could have been inhibited from breaking down the organic coating or could have been induced to evacuate, ironically with one of the same ingredients, magnesium sulphate, that were coated with organic matter."

"I see my mistake now. When trying to ensure an outcome, when not certain of success, I should use more than one method to ensure the outcome."

"Almost, except in this instance you were sure of success."

"So I should always use more than one method to ensure an outcome."

"When you can, when you can. Sometimes it is more prudent to use just one, especially when there is a risk that a second method could be counter productive. But at least you have started down this line of reasoning. You will be hungry."

"No, I'm feeling okay."

"No. You will be hungry. I had never intended for you to be successful or even have a plan B. We are purging your system, detoxifying and cleaning. A full reboot in fact. And then we will introduce some more effective flora, initiate the production of more efficient enzymes, build some basic tolerances and then balance it all out."

Dr Precarious was looking at her like he was presenting a fine gift. If she had been at a health spa and had a programme like this laid out before her, with confidence that they really knew what they were doing, she would have jumped at the chance, if she could afford it. So, deliberately ignoring all the negativity building up around the idea that this was not optional, she smiled back. "You really are providing me with the full treatment. I just hope I continue to behave as gratefully as I feel."

"Good, good. The body is a very complex thing. Hard to predict and even harder to manipulate, so a positive attitude towards the process can have a very significant effect on a successful outcome. Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Really? Anything extra?"

"Of course, just name it. And I will say yes or no."

"How long will all of this take?"

"Nine days."

"Then? Now I don't want to seem presumptuous or ungrateful, but here is my list of things to consider. I'd like to do a yoga class in the mornings and another at sunset. I'd like a gentle massage mid-morning and a deep tissue massage after the second yoga class. Actually, I would like a sauna after the second yoga and before the massage. Some light educational reading after lunch; can we continue with chemistry?"

"Yes."

"A nice, natural environment to relax in would be nice."

"To meditate in."

"I don't meditate."

"You will. As you may have noticed, I have a penchant for balance. The mind is like a ball-bearing balanced on a pin. Unbalanced by nature and inherently dysfunctional. You must learn to balance it before you get a glimpse of its potential. Meditation is a far more effective way to balance the mind than throwing chemicals at it, as amusing as that may be."

Marissa wondered whether he might think she is amused by the idea of meditation balancing the mind, or if he found great amusement in throwing chemicals at ones mind. "Will you teach me to meditate then?"

"No." Marissa went to open her mouth, but he continued before she could interrupt. "You will teach yourself to meditate, and Master Tzenzin will observe and guide."

Marissa wondered if she had been a bit demanding, "Well that was quite a list I gave you."

"No, no. Not at all. I can re-shuffle things a little, but your order makes good sense. You haven't actually asked for anything not already planned. There'll also be swimming, a walk in the forest... I don't believe in aroma therapy. It is far too contrived and its gross volumes of pure oils lacks the subtleties and combinations that I find are required to stimulate the desired physiological responses. ...Some dancing, a mask making workshop - this is the part I am most looking forward to - and a few other activities to keep you vital." He looked up as the same lady from yesterday approached with a metal platter. She set down a long tall glass fizzing with a clear liquid. Dr Precarious dismissed her with a curt nod. "This is for you. Drink up. It is most effective while fizzing."

Marissa took a good, but tentative mouthful and swallowed. It was sharp, slightly metallic and salty without tasting of salt. The fizz was already abating and she gulped the rest down. "I'm guessing we've already begun?"

"Yes, we certainly have. Now Master Tzenzin will also be running your yoga classes, which I have just moved forward. While Master Tzenzin is staff, I purchased him fair and square in a disputed autonomous zone, I take care to treat him like a guest." He stood and Marissa followed him. "Your bowels may still be processing some of the agents that I provided for you yesterday, so I'll show you the closest amenities to the quiet room, first. Don't be afraid to rush straight out of your yoga class if you feel a calling to." He looked across to Marissa as she caught up to him. "Question. Would you like a personal class or a group and if so, how many?"

She wondered at this for a moment. There must be a number of staff around this castle even though she had felt like it was only her, and the waitress who had missed out on the side-kick position, here with Dr Precarious. It would be good to meet some of the others and they would also get a break from their routine. "Five would be good." She deliberately didn't say five more, or a class of five, just to see what Dr Precarious would assume.

He was in front of her again and stopped to press on a wooden door with metal bands, identical to all of the other wooden doors. She would have to devise some system for remembering which door was which. "Amenities." Now to the quiet room.

He went to the very next door and pressed it open. To her surprise it led directly into a tight, stone, spiral staircase. There were no landings and the only light came from ambient strips hidden below the lip of each step. She was disoriented by the time she reached the door at the bottom and wasn't sure if she had descended more than two floors.

It opened into a short hallway with a door at each end. Unlike the doors in the hallway above, these hand round loops that worked both as knockers onto a steel plate behind them and handles to pull them open with.

She touched it and felt a tiny jolt of electricity, like a very mild static shock. She lifted the handle and pulled, but the door remained closed. "Does it not recognise me?"

"No. It recognises you. The speed at which that charge dissipated is your signature. It won't open because I am too close to you. Once it opens, you will see that you're in an alcove with another door at the end. The next door won't open until this door has been closed behind you. This door won't open unless you're alone, so I'll now stand back. Your class and Master Tzenzin will be along shortly."

He paused a moment, then, "Please don't talk about work with the other staff members. I understand that the management trend these days is to attain a very flat organisational chart with a lot of networking. I am old-school and prefer to keep departments siloed and out of communication with each other. I like the model of terrorist cells."

"You don't trust your staff?"

"Let's just say that I trust their intentions, but not their intelligence or judgement."

"I'm still to learn the benefits of a strictly vertical staff organisation."

"Tactful. Maybe you will come around to my way of thinking. If not, no matter. It won't make any difference." He stepped back four paces, almost to the middle of the short hall. "I will see you for lunch."

Marissa agreed with a nod and then lifted the iron ring. The door swung quietly open. She turned to Dr Precarious, "One more thing. Could I please have my door oiled so that it doesn't squeak when I open it?"

"Really? I did a bit of work to get that squeak sounding right, as a courtesy to you. I will always know when you open and close your door, but you might forget that it is sending out a signal. The squeak seemed like a very intuitive reminder."

Marissa stared at him steadily for a moment, then, "You are correct. I may forget. Thank you for the squeak." Then closed the door behind her. The alcove was pitch black until her eyes adjusted enough to detect the thin line of light coming from under each door when not looked at directly. She didn't know why, but also sensed or assumed that the little alcove was flooded with infra-red light. She lifted the iron ring of the next door, remembered to expect the tiny static jolt a moment too late, and pulled the door open. There was barely enough room for her to open the door towards her in the small space and she felt sure that some people would be too large to get through at all.

How would you be feeling if you were Marissa now? Forced through a horrible night and then made to do a world class health spa?