The defining event of this era was the Great Fire of Rome in AD 64. While Nero was not in the city when it started (he was in Antium, modern Anzio), rumors swiftly spread that he had orchestrated the blaze to clear space for his opulent Golden House (Domus Aurea). Although modern historians doubt his direct involvement, Nero’s subsequent behavior—launching a massive rebuilding project that consumed public funds and blaming the fire on the unpopular Christians—cemented his reputation. Suetonius and Tacitus, writing decades later, painted him as a monster who “fiddled while Rome burned” (in reality, he played the cithara, a stringed instrument, and rushed back to organize relief efforts).

When historians speak of “Nero 8,” they often refer to the final phase of Nero’s rule, from approximately AD 62 to his death in AD 68. This period crystallized his vilified image. Nero, a man who genuinely prized poetry, music, and theater, increasingly neglected governance for artistic performance. He forced senators and knights to applaud his lyre-playing at private recitals and even debuted on the public stage—a shocking violation of Roman decorum.

Yet there is an ironic connection. Both Neros were obsessed with artistry. The emperor saw himself as a divine performer, indifferent to his subjects’ suffering. The software suite enabled everyday people to become directors, musicians, and archivists. Where the emperor’s art was a tool of narcissism and ruin, the digital Nero’s tools were instruments of personal agency. In the end, “Nero 8” reminds us that technology and history are morally neutral; they take their meaning from how we use them. And most of us, fortunately, would rather burn a DVD than a city.