On Halloween night, Dracula live-streamed from St. Paul’s. He stepped out of the dome’s shadow, sharp and 4K, and spoke into the lens of a drone.

But somewhere, in a forgotten USB drive left in a library in Transylvania, a file named Dracula_Reborn.exe waited. Unopened. Patient.

“I am not the myth. I am the upgrade. You traded your blood for bandwidth. Now I collect.”