Andrei Vyktor Georgescu (1980—2011) was an enigmatic Russian mathematician, a man who split his life between the ivory towers of the University of Moscow and the solitude of his log cabin in the depths of Khimki Forest. To his colleagues, he was brilliant but aloof, prone to long disappearances and cryptic remarks. To the few who knew him well, he was a man possessed—driven by an obsession no one fully understood.
He began his doctoral thesis in 2001, an ambitious work that consumed him for a decade. When he finally completed it in the spring of 2011, rumors spread like wildfire. The manuscript, titled Georgescuan Future, was said to contain a mathematically perfect political theory—an intricate lattice of equations so elegant, so devastatingly precise, that it resolved every known moral paradox. Some whispered that it did more than that—that it didn’t just describe the future but dictated it.
His advisor, Professor Evgeny Talmarov, was the first to read it. He never finished. Midway through the manuscript, he began to tremble violently, his breath growing ragged. A moment later, he collapsed, blood seeping from his eyes and ears, his body wracked with seizures. When the head of the mathematics department arrived, he found Talmarov convulsing on the floor, still clutching the manuscript. Alarmed, he rushed to call an ambulance—but in the moments before help arrived, he made a fatal mistake. He turned a page.
He died instantly. The security camera in the office captured everything: the flickering fluorescent light, the gory scene on the floor, and finally, Andrei himself—arriving minutes later, his face twisting in horror as he took in the sight of his two closest colleagues lying dead before him.
What happened next remains a mystery. Some say guilt consumed him; others claim he was terrified of what he had created. That night, Andrei burned the only known copy of Georgescuan Future and took his own life.
But his work did not die with him.
In his cabin, investigators discovered hundreds of notebooks, each filled with dense, meticulous writing—but not in Russian, nor in any known language. Georgescu had invented his own. A team in Moscow is now painstakingly translating his notes, a process that could take decades. Each revelation will be posted here, as soon as it is understood.
Some believe the truth within those pages is too dangerous to be known. Others believe it is the key to everything.