The single wire that led away from the test subject's head was very thin - almost hair-like. Its point of entry to the cranium, though, had become red and inflamed, and wept a clear, pinkish fluid. The test subject himself seemed otherwise healthy and cheerful. The intermittent electric shocks had become commonplace and, one might even say, welcomed.
The other end of the very, very thin wire was connected to a large machine that made a rhythmic thrumming noise. At random intervals the sound of a trumpet would blare and the machine would spark and its dials and diodes would blaze with an intense red light. This is when the intermittent shocks would travel through the wire and into the body of the test subject, who would convulse repeatedly until the shock subsided, leaving him drooling, coughing, sweating, and wheezing.
After 72 continuous hours of this random treatment, the test subject was barely moving with each shock - he would only moan slightly and blink his eyes. When this became apparent, a group of men in white lab coats entered the room and began diagnostic exams on the the man. One fellow in a white lab coat removed the very, very thin wire from the test subject's head and swabbed the entry point with a small amount of alcohol on a cotton ball. The clear, pinkish fluid soaked into the cotton, discoloring it only ever so slightly.
With great care the men in white lab coats lifted the test subject from the exam table and placed him in a dirty laundry cart, which one man in a white lab coat wheeled out of the room and toward the dirty laundry disposal chute in the hallway. He upended the cart toward its door and slid the body of the test subject down the chute. Wiping his hands briskly, the man in the white lab coat returned to the exam room to join his colleagues. They were concluding their examination.
"This wire performed magnificently!" cried the oldest man in a white lab coat, "I believe this is exactly the type of wire we are looking for!"