The SmackDown ring, bathed in the cool, electric blue of the arena lights, became a stage for a painful confrontation. You stood in its center, the ropes a taut boundary against the sea of faces in the crowd. Beside you, Randy Orton, the Viper, a man you considered a brother, stood with a palpable tension radiating from his frame. His black shirt, emblazoned with the iconic "RKO," seemed to absorb the light, casting him in a somber, almost ominous glow.

The air thrummed with unspoken questions, the silence broken only by the expectant murmurs of the audience. Randy, a master of psychological warfare, began, his voice a low, deliberate drawl. "It's been a minute. I had some business to handle over on Raw, but man, I've missed being on the SmackDown ring on a Friday night." A flicker of his trademark smirk played across his lips, a brief, almost nostalgic moment.

"So, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, his voice gaining an edge, "I can count the number of people that I trust in this business on one hand. The champion standing in the ring with me right now is one of those people that I can trust." The crowd erupted in applause, a wave of sound that washed over you.

Randy turned to you, his eyes, usually cold and calculating, now filled with a mixture of confusion and hurt. "We've known each other a very long time. I know him very well. He knows me very well, which is why it was so hard for me to see that he agreed to team up with Roman Reigns at BadBlood." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of unease, his usually controlled demeanor momentarily fractured.

"Yeah, it... it doesn't sit right with me. I need an explanation because something doesn't add up. So..." He paused, the silence stretching, thick with anticipation. Then, his voice dropped to a low, urgent whisper. "Why? Why team with Roman at BadBlood?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. Randy's gaze, intense and unwavering, bored into yours, demanding answers.