John had a splitting headache. He squinted his eyes shut and tilted his head down and tried not to let any sound get into his ears. He wasn't succeeding.

"John? We're ready?"

Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes and looked up at his doctor, who forced a smile. John nodded and lifted himself out of the chair to plod down the hallway. The headaches had been going on for three months now and had been increasing in intensity until they were finally unbearable.

He'd tried all of the standard headache cures. Reducing stress, taking tylenol, meditation, and nothing had any effect. He read books when the throbbing wasn't too much, and he tried everything his doctor suggested. Nothing had worked. This is what had lead him to the present where he was trudging down the hallway to get an MRI and see if anything was physically wrong with him. They had wanted to put him on a gurney and wheel him down, but the squeaking wheels were unbearable. Walking wasn't much better, each footstep reverberated through his skull, but at least he could anticipate them.

His doctor swung open the door and he plodded into the excessively bright room with the attendants that talked too loudly in voices that were too high pitched. Their instructions were a blur of screeches, but he still managed to lie down on the table and quietly shut the world out. He was happy to oblige their orders to stay still.

The room cleared out and he slowly slid into the chamber. Most people found the experience unpleasant, but he rather enjoyed it. Other that the blood echoing in his own skull, it was quite silent. There were lights, but not bright enough to disturb him with his eyes closed. He regretted not requesting the scans sooner.

In the other room, the technicians began their sweep. Things went wrong quickly, before they were even halfway through the brainscan, they discovered an anomaly on the scan. Some sort of a dark, round object. It wasn't a tumor. They weren't sure what it was. They re-scanned the area. And re-scanned it.

A speaker blared into John's ear that it would take a little longer than expected and he groaned in approval. Anything to make the voice stop.

After more tests and analyses and angles, the technicians were finally convinced that it was some sort of a electronic device. It was interfering with the scan, which meant it must have some metal in it, and the readouts jumped all over the scale, which indicated it was electrical and generating some sort of a signal.

The speaker crackled on again. "Mr. Bangson? We think we've found the problem. There's some sort of an electronic device at the base of your brain."

In a distant room a half a world away, another technician grimaced at his monitor as his secret was spilled. He then reached up and pressed a button and John's head exploded.