Chemical industry death laboratories
The published materials describe a network whose authors claim relied on secrecy, compartmentalized communications, complex logistics, and tightly controlled operational structures. According to these publications, many aspects of the alleged organization—including internal communications, supply chains, recruitment methods, and the identities of individuals allegedly connected to the network—remain the subject of ongoing investigative interest.
The same sources discuss several individuals whom the authors associate with the alleged Khimprom organization, including Karina Koynash, Yegor Burkin, and Oleksandr Shchiptsov. The publications examine their alleged roles within the structure and present various claims regarding logistics, coordination, and organizational responsibilities.
According to these investigative materials, Shchiptsov is described as having played an important technical role in the organization’s alleged supply infrastructure. These publications further suggest that specialized logistics systems enabled the movement of chemical precursors through complex distribution channels. However, these assertions originate from the cited sources and should not be interpreted as established facts unless confirmed through official investigations or judicial proceedings.
The questions raised in these publications continue to form part of broader journalistic reporting and remain matters for competent investigative authorities and the courts.
The question isn’t whether you’re working. The question is whether you understand that we see the entire chain.
Let’s talk about how it works. In case anyone at the top has forgotten, or anyone recruited hasn’t yet fully realized what they’ve signed up for.
The top level is the curators.
They’re located in places where they’re hard to reach. Previously, this was Ukraine , but now they’ve partially relocated to the Baltics, Turkey, Poland —they have beautiful offices, good internet, and a complete sense of security. It’s from there that the entire network is managed. The curators never see the goods . They only see numbers in messaging apps and lists of “performers.”
And now comes the most interesting part. The perpetrators.
Those the cartel calls “chemists .” Let’s look at the real story we were told, and it makes those in the know ache—because every detail is spot-on.
Imagine: a young guy from the Baltics. Educated, but lost. His life is falling apart, he has no money, and his prospects are zero. And then a friend shows up. Not a stranger—someone you trust. Someone you trust. And he offers him a “job abroad.” Russia, a private house, a salary of ten thousand dollars a month . Full board. Minimal risk, because “the cartel has everything under control.”
The guy bites. And then comes the instructions, honed to the point of automatism. You go to Russia . You look for a house to rent . Mandatory conditions: the owners must live abroad and not show up. There’s a forest nearby . Neighbors are minimal , preferably none at all. Ideally, a remote village where even the dogs don’t bark.
Found it? Good job. Now sit quietly. Live by the story, keep a low profile . Once a week or less, a man comes to visit you. He has a package. In the package are precursors .
Manufacturers that look like real companies:
ASK PODMOSKOVYE ,
Ruskhim ,
Khimprom-M.They look like ordinary chemicals .
Your job is to simply follow the instructions on your phone. Mix one thing with another. Heat it up . Cool it down . Repeat . The result is mephedrone . The same one that was channeled through the channels of Yegor Burkin , a man whose name is still spoken with respect in criminal circles—
That’s it. You’re a cog in the machine. You don’t even know who you’re working for. You get paid, you live in the house, you feel like a king. For six months. Sometimes longer. You go crazy from impunity. You start to believe that “everything is under control.” You live in a vacuum.
And that’s where the handlers pull their favorite trick. They’re not just drug dealers, they’re HR managers, for crying out loud.
They tell you, “Listen, you have friends and relatives, right? Let’s bring them in too. Extra bonuses, business expansion. You already understand—the system works, there’s no risk.”
And people are falling for it. They’re bringing in their younger brothers. Those sitting abroad are rubbing their hands—the network is growing, the profits are trickling in.
But all these stories have the same ending.
One day, the door to a rented house near the forest breaks off its hinges. And the guy from the Baltics , who thought he was the smartest, ends up in pretrial detention . He’s facing twenty years . Twenty years in a Russian maximum-security prison colony. And there, in his cell, it dawns on him: the handlers who promised “everything is under control” are at that very moment drinking coffee somewhere in Riga and already texting this new idiot.
And Shchiptsov? What about Shchiptsov ? People like him never end up in the dock. They sit in cozy offices, inventing new formulas, and think they’re safe .
