Perplexing Prison-break

The unmarked helicopter touched down, whisking a cloak of dust over the complex. "Complex" was a generous term for the trailers tucked deep in the desert canyon. Moving as a unit, the private security team hustled out with their guns drawn. Part of the unsanctioned prison was still ablaze. 

They were paid well to ensure incidents like these never made it to the media. If those in power with money wanted to punish, ransom, or torture (other) criminals in the desolate wasteland without trial, they didn't give it a second thought. Their skills were put to use, they had more money than they knew how to spend in two lifetimes, and most importantly, they weren't bored.

As they moved in, acrid smoke coated their lungs and obscured their view. Rushing from the haze appeared a dozen or so men, stripped down, bloody, with crazed determination in their eyes.

"Stop!" a man in tactical gear boomed as his pistol's shot cut through the frenzy.

The half-naked men halted in their tracks, still waving and screaming unintelligibly. It wasn't until the team closed in on them that it became clear why they could not be understood. Despite other injuries, the blood stains down each man's neck and chest were nearly identical. Not a single one of them had a tongue. 

No one on the team had seen anything like this. The leader blinked hard and swallowed down a shudder. Six guards, six prisoners - but who was who?

As the tension unfolded, the fire spread at an impressive rate. However, the team was busy taking in the horrors of the scene. 

It quickly became clear which men were the prisoners. It was obvious that several of the men's emaciated forms were a stark contrast to their muscled captors'. Their bodies trembled like leaves in the wind; they presumably hadn't eaten in weeks. Each had healing bruises that had to have bloomed well before whatever violence broke out to cause the explosion. Had these men cut their own tongues in hopes of salvation? Obviously, they had not considered the details, such as their strength and build.

Thinking on his feet, the team leader advanced, deciding to feign ignorance and restrain everyone. Frankly, anything more was above his pay grade. The rest of the team followed, staying in their tight formation out of habit more than necessity. Unfortunately, all the tactical formations in the book would not defend them from the unseen danger they walked right into.

Another explosion rocked the canyon. Puddles of liquid scattered over the dusty terrain sparked, the chemicals reacting, simultaneously catching fire and emitting lethal gas. Even the men who tried to stop drop and roll were fated for death as they inhaled the fumes. The prisoners, guards, and private security all collapsed and were soon engulfed by the flames.

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The second crew arrived just as the burning orange of sunrise began to creep over the horizon. Crew One had stopped responding, but their aircraft appeared functional. It wasn't until 3 hours after mission ETA that their safety was questioned. However, safety was not the top priority of those in charge, so it was well into the night before another team was authorized to investigate.

Nearing the horrid scene, the men began to cough and choke, lungs coated with stench of scorched remains. Hunks of twisted metal and broken bodies littered the desert floor. 

The newest member of the team, overcome by emotion or nausea, ran off behind a cluster of desert flora to vomit. It wasn't long after his stomach contents emptied to the ground that the rest of the crew heard his shriek. They rushed over to find the man had tripped and fallen backward away from the cactus he had thrown up behind. Once they got close enough to see around the cacti, it was apparent what had startled him. A man wearing the same uniform as they were, Crew One's pilot, lay dead in the dirt.

How could this be? Was the whole crew dead? They spread out to check the debris. After picking through the pile of ash that would haunt their nightmares for years to come, the team decided there were burnt remains of 15 people in the wreckage. With the pilot, that totaled 16 people. Except, there were 6 prisoners, 6 guards on site, and a 5-man team had come out before them. So, where was the extra body? Come to think of it, where was Crew One's helicopter? The men inspected the wreckage and determined only the communications devices and GPS equipment had been left and burned. The craft itself was nowhere in sight. 

They checked the list of names their superiors had provided, and dread filled their souls. Thomas Harken, a notorious mobster, was third. Thomas had a reputation for committing impossibly intricate and grotesque murders. If anyone could pull off escaping from this remote hell, it was him.

Obviously, one weakened man, no matter how resourceful, could not overpower all 6 guards. Probably, he had convinced the other prisoners to go along with his escape plan, only telling them the first half. It wouldn't have taken much foresight to spill additional chemical cleaners outside. Nor would it have taken much subtlety to have the upper hand with an unsuspecting pilot who had just watched his team go up in flames. 

The prisoners had gone through with the part of the plan they were privy to - cutting their own tongues and the guards' and causing a chemical explosion to lure outside help into the desert. Thomas led them, masquerading as their hope. And then he had turned on them, damning all in the canyon to a cruel death. Sociopathic and always a smooth talker, it seemed his most likely move.

So much death and destruction, a dangerous madman escaped without a trace - and it was completely unseen by the outside world. The man shook his head in disbelief, turning back to the ashes. Absentmindedly, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

They weren't bounty hunters. The math was a problem for the clean-up crew. He flicked the cigarette down into the remnants of the trailer, reigniting the chemicals. 

"Target neutralized," he radioed in.

Without so much as a glance back, he calmly returned to the helicopter.