In 1983.. something bad was in the air.

A warning that seemed to come through every TV cable, every pirate radio signal, every shaking screen that caught your eyes late at night.

A heavy, relentless pulse.
A sound you didn’t just hear.. you felt it.
Like the whole world, from Florida to Bucharest, was beating to the same rhythm.
The same warning.

"What’s going on out there?"
Someone asks.
There’s danger outside.
So don’t go outside.

All signs pointed east.
Strange sources.
Mysterious signals that appeared only on certain nights, at certain heights.

Old tapes mention Vlad, a quiet, enigmatic figure, born in Romania,
whose story drifts through echoes and static, carrying whispers of Transilvania.
A name wrapped in rumor and mystery, tied to stories that trace through dark forests and mountain echoes,
where myth meets reality, and shadows dance beneath neon light.

Some say he came down from the mountains with sounds that were never written.
Others say he never came down at all.

People tell stories.
About blood and basslines.
About heartbeats syncing with distorted rhythms.
About a face that doesn’t age.

But maybe it’s just legend.
Or maybe the music isn’t just music.
Maybe it’s a calling.

And if that “something bad” from 1983 wasn’t the end…
Maybe it was only the beginning.

Followers of Myra Trench