by Robert Gryfft
The Psychic gasped. "Help me."
The Logician closed his eyes. "Visual access."
The Psychic's senses melted into the Logician's mind. He could see ectoplasmic tissue beating wetly, weakly.
"Reach in," the Logician said, dripping sweat. "Remove the shrapnel."
"Hurts-- it hurts too much--"
The Psychic screamed as, together, they pulled barbed splinters from his soul.