Moscow 2486

In Moscow’s future, the most dangerous truth is buried in the past

In 2486, Moscow is a city of flying cars, total surveillance, celebrity obsession, and bionic life forms created to serve humanity. When a world-famous hotel heiress is murdered in front of millions, Detective Dimitry Bondarenko is assigned to hunt a killer with unnatural speed, strength, and no apparent limits.

But the deeper Dimitry follows the trail, the more the investigation begins to expose disturbing gaps in his own memory. Behind the murder lies a conspiracy involving powerful corporations, synthetic consciousness, and a system that treats identity as something that can be copied, controlled, and erased.

Blending a gripping murder mystery with questions of memory, grief, morality, and what it means to be human, Moscow 2486 is a dark cyberpunk thriller set in a snow-covered future Russia.

Enter the world of Moscow 2486 and uncover the truth before it is erased.

Excerpt from the book

January 1, 2471—Dmitry Bondarenko

I’ll never forget the night I died. It was the night the snow began to fall.

As far back as I could remember—probably all my life—Moscow’s winters consisted of rain, fog, and clear skies. But never snow. Snow was something you saw in pictures of the French Alps or heard grandparents talk about in stories of the old days.

But when I woke up in my bed, white crystals covered everything outside the window: the swings, the worn trampolines, the bushes, the hollow streets. Still, it wasn’t what caught my attention.

What had awakened me? A smell of… smoke?

An inferno of flames met me as I opened the door to the hallway. The heat was so strong that I had goose bumps, and sweat dripped from my forehead. I turned and looked at the black double bed from IKEA—Angelina wasn’t there. Then I remembered—she was lying on a couch in the living room.

She had left the bedroom in an inferno of unspoken fury that could melt all the snow throughout Moscow. I had answered her with self-glorified anger.

As I walked out into the hallway and discovered that the flames were already licking against the door to the nursery, I moved in that direction.

I opened the door and discovered, to my relief, that the flames hadn’t reached the cot. However, the room was full of smoke. I coughed and hurried to the bed. Then I lifted my daughter out before taking her in my arms and continuing out into the hallway. As I walked past the front door, I knocked hard on it. There was no answer.

Shit. DAMN!

My heart hammered like a runaway dryer as I ran to the end of the hallway, watching the burning stairs in front of me. I squeezed my daughter even closer to my chest before taking an unsteady step down the upper staircase.

“Dmitry! Dmitry! Come down right now!”

“But Mom, I’m just going to finish!”

“No more stalling! We have to go! Do you want Dad to come up and get you?”

I ran down the stairs. Mom was standing there surrounded by suitcases, looking at me with her piercing blue eyes. She had folded arms, as she always did when she was impatient or angry. Her black hair was tied in a tight bun, which emphasized the pointed contours of her face.

“I don’t want to leave, Mom. All my friends are here. I don’t know anyone in Russia except Cousin Igor and Aunt Anna.”

She leaned down to me and looked at me. Her eyes looked less angry now, but she remained serious.

“I’ve been trying to explain to you why, Dmitry. Look at the windows.”

I turned to look.