Very poor choice of words

Once again, the camera shows a dark room. No light. Only shadow. The only slight illumination coming from a small, old television on the desk facing, it's rays showing the dust in the heavy air. It pierces the silence with the iconic hum of old electricals. The cam's zoomed in. It's showing a Bob Luger promo, seemingly from a very recent episode of Crossfire, highly contrasting with the near ancient nature of the TV. It's on pause, with a very visible sign in the top right to indicate it. Somewhere, someone presses play, and the promo continues from where it left off. The audio echoes through the room but is muffled through the restraints of the worn device it's coming from.

Bob Luger
"-we TAKE WHAT WE WANT! No amount of force can stop us. Not you, not your brother, not TED, and sure as hell not that little briefcase holder. NOBODY CAN STOP US! Get that through your thick skulls now because next week, I don't want to see defiance. I want to see appreciation, from all-"

The tape stops again, before it's rewound further back, turning what was left of the promo into garbled, high pitched nonsense. It stops on another section of the seemingly endless monologue. The camera's slowly zooming out from the television now. It's revealing what seems to be an arm holding a remote. The man is still shrouded in shadow, unrecognizable, choosing to not be seen.

Bob Luger
"-one on one with Zack Cage for the European Championship! A title that belongs with us. And a much-needed message for all these so-called champions that this is our show, and you only hold those belts until we decide to take them from you!-"

It stops again. These are purposeful now. There is no randomness, no mistake. There's a message being conveyed. That someone doesn't agree with what's being said. The camera has zoomed out even further by this point, no longer focusing on the TV but on something more in frame. It reveals half a man, hunched over, built like a truck. You can take a stab at who it is at this point, but not for sure. The darkness still makes it hard to distinguish any features. The TV desperately tries to light what's visible of his face to no avail as it fast forwards once more before finally stopping again.

Bob Luger
"-Anybody with eyes can see that this is our show it and was our show the moment Slate and I showed up. So, for you to sit there at your chair, rotting your teeth with all those Mountain Dews, and refuse to admit that this is OUR SHOW, that's pure ignorance and that makes you...

an enemy."

The TV's turned off almost immediately after. The fuzzy static condenses in the middle of the screen and turns off with a click. Now, the hum of the TV's gone. Only replaced by gruff, deep breathing in the darkness.

It's him.

The Machine stands up and the camera obediently follows.

His newly reclaimed anarchy title is draped around his shoulder; it's like nothing had changed. It just looked natural, just like it had always been. Walter Bolek holding that belt was the status quo, a certainty at this point, an undeniable fact that the CMV universe just had to accept.

Walter Bolek
"An enemy..."

He quietly toys with the phrase in his mouth, nodding his head in understanding, as if the words had just processed. He looks off into the space behind the camera, thinking it through. His decision was already made, but he gave it the thought all the same. You know, for tradition. Walter has always been a big fan of upholding tradition. How else would he get as many title defenses as he did if he didn't like it?

Walter Bolek
"Luger. "

His voice cuts through the stale air like a knife.

Walter Bolek
"I will forget your disrespect. I have my mission, you have yours. I understand that."

Oh, good. He understands.

Walter Bolek
"But I can assure you. You intrude in my business, and you'll have something much more than an enemy."

Nevermind.

Walter Bolek
"Leave me be, and I will return the favor. A word of warning. The line has been drawn in the sand. You cross it, and there'll be no empire to save you when I'm done."

And just like that, he's gone. "The Machine," Walter Bolek walks off screen, back into the darkness from whence he came and where he will stay until he deems fit. A message of caution sent. A man of few words but words that carry heavy meaning. The decider between a beneficial ally and a detrimental foe rests on the shoulders of one very jacked, very blonde, very confident man and how big for his boots he's feeling.

Luger and Bolek couldn't be further apart from one another, but this one decision will determine both of their paths.

He awaits a response, and it's not a smart move to keep him waiting.