Adetiba leans into this theme throughout the series: modern life as machinery, grinding people into shapes that fit its function. There is a real sense of moral blur—of how easy it is to cross the line when the structures you once trusted turn their back on you. So when Efemini helps a colleague and runs into Oboz (Bucci Franklin), a cybercrime kingpin he had once saved, it doesn’t feel like a plot twist. It feels inevitable. Out of gratitude, Oboz brings him into his cybercrime syndicate. Efemini’s tech skills, particularly in AI and programming, soon revamp the gang’s operations, transforming their crude schemes into sophisticated heists and launching them into a life of wealth, risk and moral ambiguity. 

Through its language, tone, and aesthetics, To Kill a Monkey roots itself within the context of Nigerian postcoloniality. It interrogates the continuities of colonial rationality embedded in contemporary governance and the bureaucratic state. Nigerian pidgin is the dominant dialect, grounding the narrative in the everyday experience of its urban characters. What sets the movie apart, as a Nigerian crime thriller, is how it repositions the cybercrime narrative within the context of postcolonial modernity. The film critiques the bureaucratic inheritance of colonial governance structures, showing how they perpetuate inequality and push individuals toward crime, not out of deviance, but out of structural desperation. 

This structural conflict becomes more pronounced with the introduction of Inspector Motunrayo (Bimbo Akintola), a once celebrated officer at the Nigerian Cybercrime Commission. After losing her family in a tragic accident on the day of her promotion, Motunrayo spirals into psychological collapse, disappearing for four years before returning with renewed resolve to fight for justice. Her story runs parallel to Efemini’s, and when their paths cross, it becomes the fulcrum of the series’ suspense, tension and moral inquiry. What follows is a slow chase—psychological, political and personal. The investigation threads through betrayal, power and double lives. One of the most quietly devastating twists is the revelation that Inspector Motunrayo’s trusted partner is on Efemini’s payroll. Likewise, the emotional spine snaps when Efemini learns that his wife, Nosa (Stella Damasus), has been unfaithful. These betrayals are not just plot devices—they underline the fragility of trust and the corrosion of ethical boundaries in a society where survival overrides all else.