Cycle

Somewhere in Switzerland

Arnauld Benoit was just your humble investment banker. A battler with a billion in the bank, he lived a life of solitude, rolling in the filth that was his own wealth. Gliding through European Ski-fields whilst cavorting with other such elites, it was a seemingly idyllic life, with little to no stress in the world.

That was, until this day in 1984. It was a time of Reagan and Thatcher, of union-busting and corporate excess. Benoit was very much involved, and as one of the global elites, he was known to manipulate the global market. His influence on the global body politic had seen a union strike against his company - Merci Inc - quashed quicker than a crank on crack in a minefield. Increased penalty rates for coal mine workers had to wait, as Benoit had to finish his down-payments on his swanky new Yacht; the SS Sex Machine.

In the aftermath of this, Benoit had decided to celebrate with Ivanka Gregorieva, his Serbian trophy wife. With the winter storm well and truly on it's way, Benoit decided to get in a good day of skiing whilst he could. With rumours of a follow-up strike planned in Commentry, he needed to get back to Paris to quell this workplace unrest, and with a private mercenary squad waiting for his orders, the thought of silencing this unrest made him a little bit giddy.

He sauntered through the alps at a rather brisk pace, adrenaline coursing through his veins and wind rustling through his receding hair. The alps were therapeutic for Benoit, a place where he couldn't be haunted by his own moral bankruptcy. He swept around trees and took measured risks on small ski jumps. It didn't seem like an overly risky situation.

Ivanka had been watching him frolic from below, talking to other rich trophy wives about their workout routines and pea-cocking about their husbands wealth. There was an unspoken contest to see which husband spoiled which wife more, and Ivanka had been explaining how Benoit had given her permission to open up a hair salon parlour on his new Yacht. With a wolf-fur coat on and a coffee in her hand, the beans of which were obtain illegally from a poor village in Ethiopia, she lived a life of excess, built off of exploitation,

Her gloating had been building resentment in the others, but as she heard a shrill grunt of pain from somewhere in the mountains, not dissimilar to the sounds Benoit made in bed, her gloating quickly turned to worry.

'Benoit!' She screamed out, chucking her coffee on the ground and immediatly racing up into the alps on a snowmobile. She was not dressed for the occasion, as evident by her wolf fur overcoat and her Gucci kicks, but with her husband in trouble, she had little time to change into an older pair of Gucci's with a little more weather durability.

She called out his name, 'Benoit, Benoit!' over and over again, in the hopes he'd give her an idea about where he is. Minutes rolled over, and Ivanka became more concerned. Benoit's will was ironclad, and she'd slowly been convincing him to sign over more of his estate to her. She wasn't going to settle at 8%, and by dogleg hook or by crook, she was going to rescue him, which would hopefully result in a bit more of his estate being signed over to her.

Her search had drawn out to 20 minutes, and hopes of finding Benoit was fading. Her calls for Benoit became pleas, and her tears froze over. She was dejected, and knew that I search and rescue team would probably be needed to find her darling husband.

However, as she was about to give up her search, she stumbled upon a red tree, blood red in fact. This seemed so bafflingly out of place that she couldn't stop looking at it. She stopped her snowmobile, hopped off and started slowly walking towards it,

The tree had a certain glow about it. Not that it was luminescent, but it had an inexplicable quality about it that was really hard to explain to the layman's eyes. She was drawn into it's aura, and the aura made her googly eyed and woozy. Benoit was the last thing on her mind as she gently reached out to this tree.

Then, without a hint of warning a hand reaches out from the tree and grabs Ivanka by the hand. The screams in fear as the grip of this hand is too firm to escape from. She calls out for help, she wails for someone to rescue her, but with the evening settling in, she knew help was a while away.

After a minute, she stopped fighting the hand and looked back at the tree's trunk. Beyond the arm, a face was starting to imprint itself from the other side of the trees wall. Ivanka was horrified, and as the tree conformed to the shape, she recognised who this was; Benoit.

'hrrppp' was the barely audible noise that emitted through the trees walls. It vaguely sounded like help, but it was kinda hard to tell. How Benoit had gotten inside this tree was a mystery to Ivanka.

'Babe, what? How?

'hrrppp.' The voice repeated. Knowing that something had to be done, Ivanka once again tried to wriggle from the grasp of this hand. This was less successful, and as she tried to twist free, she felt something pop from her arm socket. She was in serious pain, and with a tear weeping from the indent of Benoit's face, so was he.

This wasn't seen by the people on the ground, so when they found Ivanka at the foot of a seemingly normal looking tree, Benoit know-where to be found, many were baffled. How did she break her arm? Why can't she speak? Where was Benoit?

Six Years Later...

See, how Benoit ended up here is still a mystery to this day, and as Ivanka sat catatonic in her hospital bed in Paris, she could only think of one thing, the events of that night. She was forever traumatised by seeing her husband consumed by that very tree.

On this day in 1990, as Ivanka sat in her hospital bed, a new doctor arrived. Gregory Walter was, with a fleeting glance, a regular young doctor with an aspiration aura and a glimmer in his eyes. However, six years earlier, his life had changed forever. As he figured Ivanka was catatonic and couldn't experience anything, he decided to tell her his story.

Gregory was a striking worker in Lyon. Working as a rig operator for a mining company, Gregory was amongst many on the picket lines protesting low wages and workplace exploitation. He was fighting for a fair go, and the collective struggles and demands of his colleagues annoyed Benoit Arnauld.

Gregory was shot by a mercenary as they cleared through the picket lines. He was left without a right index finger, and with injuries so severe they had to remove about a metre of his intestinal tract.

'This is what he did to be.' Said Gregory, with venom on his tongue and hate in his heart for what his life had been reduced to. He wasn't a doctor, he was a man wanting justice. With a needle in his hand, he jabbed Ivanka, revenge for what Benoit had done to her husband. Some could say her she was paying the price for her husband's callous actions, however, there was a reason Gregory targeted her.

She rode the coattails of her husband's success. She knew what he was doing, and didn't care. Gregory getting shot because of him? she would've of give two flying fucks. As long as she had a pair of Gucci's in the mail every week, she was happy. She had benefited from her husband's exploitation, and there was some sick, perverse sense of justice as Gregory watcher her convulse for several seconds, before flat-lining. There was a smile on his face. Revenge may not be the answer, but sometimes, one could understand why one would take such actions, especially after years of being trodden on, subjected to abuse and disregarded by the wealthy.

Simultaneously

A local logging company is at work clearing through the Swiss Alp that Benoit went missing. Many people avoided the mountain from thereon after, believing it was cursed. For this mining company, they didn't really care, as they had to turn some wood into cheaply made products to be exported to China and sold in knockoff markets. They didn't really give a rats arse about preserving the environment, as a quick buck had to be made.

With chainsaws in hand, loggers began clearing through the trees. One by one, trees were taken down without much hesitancy, and with little care or consideration for what they were doing. It was like washing your hands, something that required little thought from the people who engaged in such activity.

Until one worker, Richard Moran, got to this one tree. It was relatively ordinary to him. He yanked the cord on his chain and got ready to tear this tree down. But as he put the chainsaw towards the tree, a hand reached out and grabbed him by the throat. He gasped for air, with the tree whispering something inaudible, but definitely there.

In his haste, he chopped off the growth in an act of self defense. He was shaken by what he'd just experienced, and didn't know how to react. His boss, Dirk Bentley, saw this, and quickly raced over to see what this was.

'What's wrong.'

'I, I, I don't know.' Richard replied. Dirk looked at this tree, and decided to finish the job.Picking up the chainsaw, she started sawing through this tree without hesitation. With a confused look, Dirk looked out and told Richard,

'See, wasn't that hard, was it.' He turned back around, and without warning, he was drenched in litres of blood. A deluge of claret poured out of the pores of this tree and drenched him like he'd dove into the ocean. What this was, was unexplained to the two loggers. But if Ivanka had not just succumb to a powerful poison, this would've confirmed her suspicions; This was Benoit.