The camp of Savio was a place of unimaginable horror and suffering, a twisted nightmare that made Auschwitz look like a vacation resort. Teenagers from all backgrounds were sent here by parents - either deceived or indifferent - seeking to enforce their warped ideas of discipline.

One day, the camp's owner, Deetrick Wasserman, a sadistic lunatic, carried out his daily inspection. He moved from cabin to cabin, ensuring his twisted rules were being followed. But something was wrong. As he opened each door, he found the cabins empty. Every single one.

Even more unsettling, his staff - his fellow tormentors - were missing. Not a trace of them anywhere. Even his personal lackey, Synanon, a male prostitute he had plucked from abroad, was gone without a sign.

A deep unease settled over him. He tried contacting security through his radio. Silence. Panic gripped him as he rushed to the phone to call the local police. Dead. No signal. No response.

His fear escalating, he sprinted to his Mercedes, desperate to flee, only to find the car dead. The engine was gone, as if ripped straight from the vehicle.

Then, he noticed something - footprints. A pattern of them, leading toward the camp's dining hall.

Against his better judgment, he followed.

Inside, the stench of blood and burnt flesh choked the air. The sight before him made his stomach lurch.

His entire staff lay dead - tortured, brutalized, butchered in ways that mirrored their crimes. The rapists had hot irons shoved deep inside them. The enforcers, who had beaten teenagers into submission, were sewn inside punching bags and bludgeoned to death. Synanon was flayed alive, his flesh peeled from his body as he hung in chains, raw and exposed.

The doctors and medical staff who had drugged the teenagers were tied to chairs, force-fed lethal doses of their own chemicals. The cooking staff had suffered the worst - some roasted alive over open flames, others boiled into a grotesque human stew. Their last expressions were frozen in eternal terror.

Deetrick gagged and vomited, his body convulsing with horror. He turned to run.

But before he could reach the exit, the doors slammed shut. Darkness swallowed the room.

Then, it appeared.

A figure with horns, clad in a suit, sat at the head of the dining table, grinning. The air turned thick with the stench of sulfur and death.

Deetrick's breath hitched as he took a step back. "Why?" he stammered. "Why have you done this? Where are the campers? Are they safe?"

The demon chuckled. "Far safer than they ever were under your care."

With a snap of its fingers, the floor beneath Deetrick cracked open, glowing red with unholy fire.

Clawed hands shot up from the abyss.

Deetrick screamed, struggling, thrashing, but the hands held firm. They yanked him downward, dragging him toward the pit that had opened beneath his feet.

"No! No! Please!" He clawed at the floor, but it was futile.

The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was the demon's smirk.

Then, he was gone.

The demon rose from its seat and turned toward a door at the far end of the hall. It creaked open.

Beyond it, the missing campers stood huddled, wide-eyed.

The demon gave them a reassuring smile. "The deed is done. You are free."

Without another word, it stepped aside, allowing them to leave.

And just like that, the nightmare was over.