Case #1979

I died on the MKAD on a Friday, and woke up in September 1979—in the body of a twenty-three-year-old police lieutenant in provincial Krasnozavodsk. I now have someone else’s memories, an eight-square-meter room in a communal apartment, a new uniform, and a job in the criminal investigation department (UGRO) of the city precinct. But my head is mine. With twelve years of operational experience in Moscow in the 2000s. To get to the truth, I’ll have to work by Soviet rules: without databases, without expert reviews, and without the right to make a mistake. Because here even a “small case” is a case behind which there’s a living person.