In 1986, a boy named Igor sits at the edge of a forest, desperate to study a comet streaking across the night sky. What he witnesses instead is a harrowing glimpse of earthly horror: from the thicket, a figure emerges, cradling the body of a torn youth. Terrified, Igor flees to his home and recounts the sighting. His parents, however, prefer the comfort of television fiction over the truth spoken by their son, who becomes entangled in the family’s storytelling and scolded for his fairy tale. In time, Igor himself contacts the police, becoming a crucial witness in a brutal serial murder investigation.
Meanwhile, in Rostov, the tone is deliberately stark and shocking as veteran investigator Evgeny Bokov tends to his gravely ill wife. A calm home phone rings, pulling him toward a troubling memory he once kept at arm’s length. Across the country, metropolitan authorities quickly learn that the most recent murder bears the signature of a Rostov madman, forcing Bokov to abandon comfort and return to the field. He heads to Moscow, promising to come back, though not as soon as he would like.
Back in the capital, two more investigators join Bokov’s team: Natalya Dobrovolskaya, a single mother who exudes grit, and Valery Kozyrev, a skilled agent with a complicated family life. Dobrovolskaya is drawn to Bokov despite his abrasive pragmatism, quickly proving she can close a case while keeping her own humanity intact. Kozyrev, a family man with a keen investigative mind, brings a different rhythm to the squad. Together, they thread through the maze of fear and evidence, building toward a six-year pursuit that tests loyalties, ethics, and the limits of their own resilience. The work is grueling, and the system around them feels increasingly fragile as a new era struggles to take shape.
This trio becomes the engine of the story. Bokov remains relentless and principled, a line-driven professional who values work over warmth, yet cannot escape his own personal pain. Dobrovolskaya begins as a seemingly simple instrument of the system, eager to close the case for statistics, yet she soon asserts independence and grows into a pivotal player. Kozyrev, the affectionate family man and capable researcher, stays tethered to his loved ones even as he navigates the darker corners of the case. The dynamic among them, with its sharp edges and hard conversations, anchors the narrative and pushes the investigation forward.
Central to the film are the people around each investigator: the operators, the victims’ families, and the broader community impacted by the maniac’s terror. The creators, Sergei Kalvarsky and Natalya Kapustina, describe the project as a deep dive into the repercussions of evil. The victims extend beyond lifeless bodies; they are grieving parents, exhausted investigators who have devoted years to stopping a killer, and ordinary citizens who feel the chill of fear in every street corner. The looming threat becomes a palpable force, a poison that gradually paralyzes society and reshapes how people rest at night and live through each day. The mood is dense, a foreboding atmosphere that mirrors the moral weight of the case, crafted through the striking visuals and soundscape that envelop the characters in a shadowy abyss.
The series earns a comparison to acclaimed crime dramas like True Detective and Mindhunter, but it resists imitation. It carves out its own voice, drawing closer in tone to The Execution of Lado Kvatania, rather than following the lead of Pizzolatto or Fincher. The intent is not to mimic but to reveal a distinct cadence and perspective on crime and consequence. The storytelling focuses on the human fallout—the erosion of trust, the strain on relationships, and the way fear reshapes communities—without glamorizing the criminal or softening the truth of the victims’ experiences. This is a deliberate choice that gives the series its own authority and emotional weight.
When recent true crime productions have attracted debate about romanticizing evil, this series positions itself differently. Where a recent show presented the criminal’s view, inviting empathy in ways that sparked controversy, the narrative here denies the villain any voice in the moral conversation. It centers on the victims, the investigators, and the cost paid by families who live with the aftermath of violence. The power of the first three episodes, screened for the press, lies in their restraint: there is no gratuitous rudeness, no overused clichés, and no forced spectacle. The storytelling feels authentic to a dark, conditional landscape and refuses to sensationalize the events. The result is a grounded portrayal that earnestly probes the limits of courage and justice in a society grappling with fear.
Producers describe the project as a meditation on hypocrisy, indifference, and a period when proclaimed virtues hid the harsher truths. Yet the series also emphasizes a crucial truth: the fight against evil depends on real people who decide to intervene, resist cynicism, and act despite fear. It is this commitment to human agency that gives the narrative its enduring tension and resonance, inviting viewers to consider what it takes to stop a predator and protect a community from slipping into darkness. This is a story about people choosing to act when the world seems most perilous, and about the quiet strength that emerges when the risk of evil becomes an immediate, undeniable reality.