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A/n: Just a short little thingy-thing. Jake x MC. Nothing special. After posting about it days earlier I wanted to address the topic... well, in a drabble lol.
-> There is a part two now. Yes.
Jake had been back for three days now. Three days in which he had been staring at the new file on his laptop without opening it.
He hadnât allowed himself to.
Moonvale.
Attached to itâlogs, names, locations, fragments, messages. Secrets.
And MC.
Your name appeared too often to be ignored.
Maybe he should have ignored it. Focused on everything else that required his attention. There was enough. More than enough.
But at 02:13, in the dark of a rented hotel room, the screen the only source of light, restraint became inefficient.
He opened the file.
His jaw tightened as unfamiliar names populated the screen. Profiles. Connections. Movement patterns. All organized. Clean. Efficient.
Ordered alphabetically by NYMOS.
His eyes moved faster.
Cross-references. Message logs. Calls. Already a lot of them.
And pinned at the top of the folder, two missing persons: Adam Dover. Sophia Holland.
He stilled, eyes moving a bit slower as he read the information. Both disappeared on the same night. Both in... the woods of Redlog Pines.
He exhaled, measured, controlled, while patterns were getting clearer in his mind.
Your name surfaced again. Threaded through conversations. Attached to timestamps that stretched deep into the night. Too late to be healthy for your sleep schedule.
He leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing when he shortly looked away from the screen out the window into the dark night.
The realization came fast, uncomplicated. Unpleasant.
You were doing it again. Investigating. Barely a gap between this one and Duskwood. And once again... no hesitation from you.
But this time... no him.
He became aware of the pressure in his jaw only when the metallic taste registered on his tongue from where his teeth had dug into his cheek. But he didnât loosen it.
The pain brought him back from his thoughts, his eyes snapping back to the screen, the cursor flickering.
He scrolled back to the top. Read everything again. Faster this time. As if his mind had decided there was no time to waste. As if his mind was trying to distract him from a spiral of worry.
But it only made everything clearer. Realer.
You were repeating it. Different names. Different place. But the same structure.
And the same risks...
His gaze shifted back to your name, highlighted in the system as if it belonged there. As if it had always belonged there.
His fingers moved before the thought fully formed. The secured channel he had opened three days ago when he came back. When he finally reached out again.
For a moment, the cursor blinked in an empty input field.
But he did not fill it yet. Didn't type the words in his mind.
Instead, he pulled up another log. Ran a quick trace on one of the numbers linked to you.
Eric.
Barely secured account.
Amateur.
His expression darkened, almost imperceptibly, the more he read.
A girl named Ash you already befriended. Just like you did with Jessy without even doing anything. A guy named Charlie. Too personal. Too... aligned. Too... open with all of them. Worrying for each of them.
And the most bitter realization so farâ
You trusted them.
He leaned back in his chair, this time fully. His screen showing your story: âWho knows what happened at the Greenside Motel?â
Your beautiful face looking right at him from your profile pictures.
He stared right back as his chest began to tighten up. Second by second. His thoughts started to race. Worry, hurt, jealousy mixing together into a complicated mix that took over his rational thoughts.
First of all, I want to apologize if maybe this imagery triggers anyone and this is not in any way me fetishizing burn victims đđđ
Oof, I haven't done this in a while, I feel so rusty. Honestly I don't remember the last time I made a Duskwood fanart. I missed it. But I think this one turned out great. I was highly inspired by this shot from Challengers đ
I just imagine his first reunion with MC he'd be pretty scared. As we saw from the first Moonvale episode, Jake abandoned his jacket and backpack because they caught on fire. So I figured he suffered some burn from escaping the mine (and the other thing đ)
I'm too lazy to add some background because that's literally all I do almost everyday now. I either draw buildings or plants. There's like nothing in between. I hope you enjoy this and also hopefully it helps with you Jake deficiency. At least it helped me a little. I just wanna hug him and tell him that everything's gonna be just fine âĄâĄ
ââââ MOONVALE SIDE STORY EPISODE 3ââââ
I swear, if Jake have risked his life to save Richy without knowing he was Hannah's kidnapper, and he's out there injured, I'll personally take care of barbecuing Richy and giving him to the forest animals
A/N: I started writing this one-shot before episode 3 came out and finally got around to finishing it. This is how I imagine things might have realistically unfolded after the fire in the mines with just a tiny sprinkle of delulu for fun. I also believe that Jake has allies somewhere who are ready to help whenever he needs it. đ
Trigger warnings: Burning scars, injuries
POV: Jake
The sharp, chemical bite of medical alcohol clawed its way into his lungs before his eyes even opened. It mixed with the thicker, sweeter stench of iodine, old bandages, and something far worse⌠the unmistakable smell of charred skin and smoke that still clung to his own body like a second, rotting layer. Every shallow breath dragged that nightmare back into him.
He lay perfectly still for a long moment, trying to piece together where the hell he was. A thin mattress creaked under his weight. The air felt damp, slightly cool, like a basement that had been scrubbed too many times but never quite lost the rot. Outside the single narrow window, the sun was sinking low and bloody, painting the room in deep crimson that made the white walls look as if they were still dripping.
In the far corner, a single candle flickered on a metal tray. Its tiny flame danced, casting long, jittery shadows across the ceiling. The light caught in his blurred vision, and his pupils snapped wide.
Fire.
The word slammed into him like a physical blow. Suddenly, he wasnât in this room anymore. He was back in the mines, the heat roaring down the tunnel, timber beams cracking and spitting sparks, Richyâs laughter echoing off the stone as the whole world turned orange and black.
Richy. The Man Without a Face. The confession. The flames swallowing everything.
MC.
His chest heaved. He tried to bolt upright, but the pain was instantaneous and merciless, a white-hot sheet of agony ripping across his left side, his shoulder, his face. It felt like someone had peeled his skin off and poured gasoline over raw muscle. A broken groan tore out of his throat, and he collapsed back against the thin pillow, gasping.
A gentle hand landed on his uninjured shoulder, warm and steady. Blonde curls brushed his cheek as the woman leaned in. Her voice was soft, practiced, the kind of voice people used when they were trying not to scare a wounded animal.
âEasy, mister. Youâre safe now. Youâre in the hospital.â
Hospital. The word sounded ridiculous even through the haze. This place smelled more like a back-alley butcherâs than any real medical ward.
âWhaââ His voice cracked, raw and scorched.
âGod, stop lying to him,â a familiar male voice barked from the other side of the bed, laced with that same exasperated affection Jake had known for years. âIf you call this shithole a hospital, I donât even want to know what kind of places youâve patched people up in before.â
Blake. His longest friend. The one person heâd trusted enough to send that desperate SOS to when the flames were licking at his heels.
âBlakeâŚâ Jake rasped. Speaking hurt. Everything hurt. But the name grounded him just enough.
âYeah, buddy. You sent the SOS, and I came running like the idiot I am. What the hell were you thinking, going into those mines alone? After everything we talked about?â
Jakeâs mind was already slipping past the question. One thought clawed its way to the front, louder than the pain, louder than the fear.
âMCâŚâ The name slipped out like a prayer, weak and cracked and desperate. He could see her face so clearly, the worry in her eyes the last time theyâd spoken, the way her messages had kept him going even when he knew he was walking into hell. She thought he was dead. She had to. The fire, the silence, the explosion⌠she was out there right now believing heâd burned with everything else.
He needed to message her. Right now. Tell her he was alive, that he was coming back, that the last thing heâd said, *I love you*, wasnât a goodbye. He tried to lift his arm toward where his phone should have been, but the movement sent fresh fire racing down his nerves.
âWhoâs that?â the woman asked gently, though there was a knowing edge in her tone now.
âThat girl from Duskwood?â Blake supplied, quieter this time.
Jake managed the smallest nod. Even that tiny motion made the room tilt.
âCould youâŚâ He coughed, the sound wet and ragged, like broken glass in his lungs. He lifted one trembling, bandaged hand toward the candle. The flame was still dancing, still taunting him. âPlease. The fire⌠turn it off.â
The woman didnât hesitate. She crossed the room in two quick steps and blew the candle out. The flame died with a soft hiss. Darkness swallowed the room, and for the first time since waking, Jake felt like he could actually pull air into his chest without screaming.
The relief lasted only seconds.
The door creaked open. Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold, and a new voice, deep, irritated, edged with reluctance, filled the small space.
âYou know Iâm risking my entire license for this, right? The FBI is tearing half the state apart looking for him. One wrong word and Iâm done.â
Blakeâs tone stayed flat, businesslike. âYouâll be paid enough to retire twice over. Weâve got the money. Just do your job.â
âI canât believe Iâm treating a wanted criminal in my off hoursâŚâ
âWeâre the good ones here,â the blonde woman cut in, steel threading through her soft voice.
âWhatever helps you sleep at night,â the doctor muttered.
Jake felt gloved fingers, cool silicone, gently tilt his chin. The touch on his burned cheek was feather-light, but it still pulled a weak hiss from between his teeth. The doctor worked in silence for a long moment, examining, probing.
âSecond- and third-degree burns over twenty-eight percent of the body,â he said at last, clinical and grim. âThe left eye is at serious risk of permanent damage if we donât move fast. We need to operate immediately.â
Jakeâs heart hammered. He wanted to argue, to demand a phone, to beg them to let him send one message, but the sting of a needle slid into his arm before he could form the words. Cold spread through his veins like liquid shadow.
The last thing he clung to before the world dissolved into black was her name, repeating like a heartbeat inside his head.
MC⌠Iâm still here. Iâm coming back to you.
When he woke again, the room was cleaner, brighter, real daylight spilling across sterile white sheets instead of blood-red dusk. The pain had dulled to a heavy, constant throb, but it was still there, waiting.
âAh, there you are,â Blake chuckled from the chair beside the bed, voice warm with relief. âWelcome back to the land of the living, hero.â
âOh God⌠what the fuck happened?â Jake muttered, his voice still hoarse from smoke and sedation. His fingers trembled as they rose to his face, brushing over the thick medical patch covering his left eye. The skin around it felt tight, raw, foreign. Every inch of him ached with a deep, bone-weary pain that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Blake leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. âYou sent me that SOS literally seconds before the FBI swarmed the mine entrance. What the hell kind of shit did you get yourself into this time, man?â
Jake closed his good eye for a moment, the memories crashing back in fragments, flames roaring, Richyâs twisted confession, the desperate choice heâd made. âHe wanted MC to come down into the mines. I couldnât⌠I couldnât let anything happen to her.â
Blake let out a low whistle. âShe thinks youâre dead, Jake. I managed to mirror your phone before they shut everything down. I watched her messages. The FBI cut all internet and connections the second they realized you were still inside. Total blackout.â
âSo MC canât even talk to the others?â Jake breathed, the words scraping out like gravel.
âNo. And sheâs a complete mess.â Blakeâs voice softened. âTo top it all off, sheâs already gotten dragged into some new case. Is this girl a detective or something?â
A weak, proud smile tugged at Jakeâs cracked lips despite everything. âNo⌠but she sure as hell could be one.â
He tried to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the burns on his torso screamed in protest. âWhereâs my phone?â
Blake studied him for a long second, then sighed. âSince youâre clearly more worried about her than your own shredded body, hereâs the surgery rundown: Your left eye is saved, barely. You might have uneven vision from now on; the doc couldnât fix everything under these conditions. But you can see. The burns⌠those are staying with you for the rest of your life, man. Scars, discoloration, the works. Permanent reminder.â
Jakeâs fingers brushed the bandaged patches on his neck and arm. For the rest of his life. A brand from the fire heâd willingly walked into, all to keep her safe. The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it felt almost⌠right.
âThank you, Blake.â
âYouâre welcome, idiot.â Blake gave him a tired grin. âRest today. We move at dawn tomorrow. Theyâre getting too close.â
Jake nodded faintly. The moment Blake handed over the burner phone, his hands shook with urgency. Nymos had been working overtime; dozens of messages had tried to push through during the blackout. He opened the chat with MC and his chest tightened until it hurt worse than the burns.
Her messages were desperate. Fragmented. Sent hours apart, each one more broken than the last.
Jake? Please answer.
They said the mines are on fire. Tell me you got out.
I canât lose you too.
Jake, I love you. Come back to me.
The last thing he had managed to send before everything went dark stared back at him:
âI love you MC.â
Her reply, sent minutes later while the flames were still raging:
âI love you too, Jake.â
Warmth, fragile and painful, bloomed in his chest. For a moment the burns, the FBI, the running⌠none of it mattered. He smiled through the sting in his face.
He had to see her. Had to know she was still breathing.
His fingers flew across the screen.
Jake: Hello, MC. Don't worry about me. I'm alive.
Delivery Error
Jakeâs good eye burned. His chest felt too tight. He wanted to reach through the screen, pull her into his arms, whisper that he was alive, that he was coming for her. The guilt clawed at him worse than any burn.
âIs there any way we can stay in Duskwood?â he asked Blake hoarsely, never taking his eye off the chat.
Blake looked up from his laptop and shook his head. âToo risky. Way too risky.â He turned the screen so Jake could see their current location, and the cluster of moving red dots closing in from the north. âWe need to put more distance between us and them.â
âCrap,â Jake cursed under his breath.
He barely remembered drifting off again, the burner still clutched in his bandaged hand, MCâs face burned behind his eyelids.
The next thing he knew, Blake was shaking him roughly.
âJake, wake up! Weâve got five minutes. Fucking move your ass!â
Adrenaline flooded his system. Pain or no pain, he swung his legs off the bed. On shaky, unsteady feet they bolted out of the makeshift hospital, Blake supporting him as they sprinted toward the waiting car. Tires screeched as they sped off into the rising sun, leaving another safe house behind, and Jakeâs heart somewhere back on those lonely country roads with her.
Weeks had passed since they fled to another state. Jake sat hunched over his laptop in yet another dingy motel room, the blue glow of the screen the only light cutting through the darkness. His fingers danced across the keys, layering encryption after encryption, bouncing his signal through half a dozen countries so no one could trace him.
He opened the messenger app, his custom program running silently in the background, keeping him hidden as offline. The unread messages hit him like knives.
MC: Jake please
MC: I beg you
MC: One message. Thatâs all Iâm asking for.
Lily: Jake please message me
Lily: I refuse to believe youâre dead
Lily: You need to come back if not for me, then for MC
Lily: Sheâs at my place
Lily: She is an absolute mess. She barely eats, sleeps, or showers.
Lily: I miss you, big brother.
Big brother.
The words carved straight into his chest. Lily had never called him that lightly. Now it felt like a goodbye he didnât deserve.
He had to see her. He pulled up the hacked traffic and security cameras around her town. The feed loaded, footage from a few days ago. And there she was.
MC.
She stood on the sidewalk outside her building, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had finally crushed her. Her eyes, once bright and determined, were red and swollen from days of crying. Dark, bruise-like circles hung beneath them, carved deep by sleepless nights. Her hair was messy, unwashed, pulled back in a careless knot. She looked thinner, hollowed out, as if grief had eaten her from the inside. Every few seconds she glanced around the empty street with raw, desperate hope, the kind of look someone gives when theyâre still waiting for a miracle they no longer believe will come.
Jakeâs breath caught. God, MC⌠Iâm so sorry.
She wiped her eyes roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie, before climbing into her car. The engine started. He switched camera feeds frantically, heart hammering against his ribs as he tracked her.
The highway. Her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. She kept glancing at her phone in the passenger seat, as if willing it to light up with his name. Tears slipped down her cheeks at a red light; she didnât even bother wiping them away anymore. Country roads blurred past under gray skies. Every mile she drove closer to Duskwood, the tension in her posture grew. She looked exhausted, haunted, terrified that she was driving back to the place where sheâd lost him forever.
He stared at the green window that finally popped up, his location was masked. Safe, for now. Blake had split off again days ago; Jake was alone with his ghosts once more. With a deep breath, he disabled the cloaking program.
Jake is now online.
Lily: JAKE!!!
Lily: Let me get MC
His heart hammered. He took a sip of the cold, bitter coffee on the table and grimaced, but the taste barely registered. Minutes stretched. Then the typing indicator appeared.
MC: Youâre alive! Are you okay?!
Jake: I had to hide. I almost didnât make it out⌠but Iâm fine now. Finally safe.
MC: You are really fine?
He smiled softly despite the ache in his burned cheek. She was always worried about him first.
Jake: Iâm fine. I promise :)
The moment he hit send, his gaze dropped to his own hand, scarred, discolored, the skin tight and warped like melted wax. Fine. What a cruel lie. He caught his reflection in the dark window: the patchwork of burns across his face and neck, the patch still covering his left eye, the way his hoodie hid the worst of it. He looked like a monster from a nightmare. How could he ever let her see him like this?
MC: Can we meet some day?
His heartbeat stumbled violently.
Jake: No.
Jake: I had to move far away.
MC: I donât care! I will get a plane ticket if I need to!
MC: Please Jake
MC: I need to see you. Touch you. Make sure youâre really here.
Jake: I will see what I can do.
MC: I love you, Jake.
The smile that broke across his face hurt every scar, but it was real. His heart screamed for her. Every cell in his body ached to hold her.
Maybe⌠just maybe she wonât run.
Jake: I love you too, MC.
Months later
The forest of Duskwood smelled exactly as he remembered, damp earth, pine, and faint traces of smoke that still haunted his nightmares. Jake paced back and forth in front of the old wooden bench, hood pulled low, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The FBI had lost his trail. They were starting from zero again. But none of that mattered right now.
He kept replaying the leaked footage in his mind: MC in that cold interrogation room, agents screaming at her, slamming fists on the table, threatening her with charges if she didnât give them something on him. She had looked so small. So alone. And he had failed to protect her from any of it.
While he was healing in hidden rooms, she had walked through hell.
A branch snapped behind him.
Jake froze, every muscle locking. Footsteps. Soft at first, then faster, then hesitant, then faster again. His breath caught.
âJakeâŚ?â
Her voice. Soft, trembling, like warm honey poured over every raw nerve in his body. It nearly undid him.
âYes,â he answered, keeping his face turned away, hidden in the shadow of his hood.
âWhy wonât you look at me?â
He shook his head, throat tight. She stepped closer. The sweet scent of her flowery perfume wrapped around him like a memory he didnât deserve.
âHey,â she whispered.
Her fingers gently slid under his chin. Electricity crackled across his skin. Goosebumps erupted down his arms. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he thought she might hear it.
She tilted his face up.
Their eyes met.
MCâs widened. A sharp gasp escaped her. For one agonizing second she stared at the scars, the warped skin, the milky damage still visible in his left eye. Jakeâs stomach dropped. He waited for the disgust. The recoil. The end.
She took a small step back.
There it is.
But then her hand returned, not pulling away, but reaching again. Her voice cracked with something deeper than shock.
âThatâs my faultâŚâ she whispered.
âWhat?!â The word tore out of him, rough and broken.
She pushed both hands through her hair, eyes glistening. âHe wanted me to come down there. I should have gone insteadââ
Guilt. Pure, crushing guilt etched across her beautiful face.
Jakeâs heart shattered. âAnd instead you get burned? I would do it all over again!â he argued fiercely. âEvery second. Every scar. Iâd walk back into that fire if it kept you safe.â
âStop!â She threw her hands up, tears spilling freely now. âYou didnât deserve this. None of it.â
Her palms came back to his face, both of them this time, cupping his scarred cheeks with a tenderness that made his knees weak. She didnât flinch. Not once.
âI know Iâm ugly and disgusting now and you canââ
âDonât you dare finish that sentence,â she cut him off, voice fierce even through the tears.
âYou can be honest if you stopped loving me like thisââ
âShut up.â
Before he could say another self-loathing word, she surged forward and kissed him.
Hard.
Her fingers slid into his hair, gripping the back of his head as if she was terrified he might vanish again. Her other hand cradled the burned side of his face like it was something precious. Her lips were warm, soft, desperate, pouring months of fear and longing into him.
Jake froze for half a heartbeat⌠then kissed her back like a man drowning. Butterflies exploded in his chest, wild and overwhelming. They smiled into the kiss, teeth bumping clumsily, soft laughter breaking between them, but neither pulled away. They only pressed closer, deeper, tasting salt from her tears and the faint bitterness of his own.
When they finally parted, foreheads still touching, she whispered the words he had feared most:
âTake me with you, Jake.â
âItâs too dangerous. Youâd lose your lifeââ
âWhat life?â She smirked through the tears, that familiar fire sparking in her eyes.
âFamily?" He asked.
"I prefer to call them my producers at this point.â
He raised an eyebrow. She smiled wider. âYouâre not the only one with secrets.â
âYour job?â
âFired weeks ago.â
âYour friends?â
âWe were always online anyway. Why not continue the tradition?â
He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. âYou always have an answer to everything, donât you?â
âOf course I do.â She kissed him again, slower this time, reverent.
âYou deserve better than this fugitive life.â
âWhatâs better than you?â she asked simply. âThe money I make barely covers rent. In a few months itâll go up and Iâll probably end up on the street anyway.â
Jake sighed, resting his forehead against hers. The scars pulled tight, but her hands never left his face.
âFine,â he whispered. âIâm safe⌠for now. But you need to understand what this life means.â
âIt means a life with you, Jake. I donât want any other one.â
He kissed her one last time, deep, slow, full of every unsaid promise, then laced their fingers together.
Hand in hand, they ran deeper into the forest, laughter mixing with breathless gasps as the trees swallowed them whole. They didnât stop until they found an old, hidden hunterâs cabin tucked away from the world, their temporary shelter, their first real home in months.
Jake didnât stop smiling the entire day.
Not when they stepped inside the dusty cabin and he finally allowed himself to pull her close without fear. Not when their jackets slipped to the floor and trembling fingers worked open buttons and zippers, revealing skin that had been hidden for far too long. Not when the cool night air brushed over his scarred body and he instinctively wanted to hide, only for MC to stop him with the gentlest touch.
She traced every burn mark with reverent fingertips, then followed them with her lips. Where the fire had once destroyed, her mouth now worshipped. Each kiss sent sparks dancing across his nerves, not pain, but something deeper, warmer, almost sacred. Her skin against his damaged flesh felt like forgiveness given physical form. Where he was rough and uneven, she was soft and warm, melting into him as if she had been made to fit exactly against every scar.
âJakeâŚâ she whispered, his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer, like salvation.
He shivered at the sound. Every time she said it, slow, breathless, full of wonder, it cracked something open inside his chest. He felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with his scars and everything to do with how completely she accepted him. Her hands slid over his shoulders, down his back, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Her body melted against his, pliant and trusting, every curve pressing into him as though she needed to prove he was real.
He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, that sweet floral scent mixed with salt from happy tears. His own hands explored her with aching gentleness, afraid to press too hard, afraid this moment might vanish like so many dreams before. But she only held him tighter, whispering his name again and again between soft kisses, each utterance healing another fractured piece of his soul.
In the quiet glow of moonlight filtering through the old windows, they moved together, slow, reverent, full of months of fear and longing finally given release. Every touch was a promise. Every sigh, every shared breath, every time she gasped his name like it was the only word that mattered⌠it told him he was wanted. Loved. Enough.
Even like this, broken, burned, still running, he was enough for her.
When they finally lay tangled together under a shared blanket, skin warm and hearts racing in sync, Jake pressed one last kiss to her forehead and held her like she was the only safe thing left in his world.
Maybe he was selfish for taking her with him.
But as she curled closer, whispering âI love you, Jakeâ against his scarred chest, he knew he would never let her go again.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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A theory about Adam, Sophia, Billy Blake and the cassette tape which actually makes sense!
"There was that cassette thing, back when we could still listen to it. And thatâs probably where we heard Adam and Sophia. And supposedly Billy disappeared around the same time as Sophia. Adam hadnât disappeared yet, but what if they did something to Billy? Iâm not saying they did something to him on purpose. Something that made them think Billy was dead. The first video call when Adam called us, he said, âI know this is totally impossible, but I saw him.â I think he was talking about Billy. And then thereâs the fact that Adam and Sophia disappeared at the same time. They were both scared. And I agree with you that the stranger is Billy. He was there in the woods too. And he said we donât know what Adam did. At least thatâs how I remember him saying it."
I read this on reddit, Gosh, this theory totally makes sense. I have been wondering about the timelines when Billy ran to the woods. & Sophia disappearing. and now Billy must be threatening them and that's why they are scared now. He is back for revenge, probably. it makes sense why Sophia was back in redlog after all these years. Moonvale's theme mentions that someone has set a trap for MC, that's what it must be about. Billy isn't alone and the group traps people for something, and this time they are using Sophia and Adam to trap MC, which seems planned and calculated. I belive the unknown isn't Billy Blake. And Sophia must have called that number from cafe to ask for help to unknown.
I 100% know my man hackerman pulled that mechanic out of there because he knows how much he means to us. There is no way that that determined stubborn Richy set everything on fire and got out by his own feet.
