Ah, that makes sense. Still doesn't explain how you discovered these bands, though.
I can tell you the story, if you want.
Perun, for reasons classified by sixteen separate governments spanning three generations and four continents, was walking the streets of Turku, Finland one day. He turned to his partner in REDACTED, Albert H. Wulfram, who may or may not have been a spy for the small but powerful nation of San Marino, and asked him, "Did you hear that?"
Wulfram, who was legally deaf in one ear, shook his head. "I have not heard this, comrade Perun," he replied in his thick Russo-Djiboutian accent. "What is it that you hear?"
A single finger extended to Wulfram to warn him not to speak further, Perun's head roamed back and forth, cocking to one side then the other, like a hound that had caught the scent. "I believe I hear fresh cheese, Wulfy," he said in a hushed tone. "It floats to me on the wind. We must act quickly, before the Forces of Pop smother it. Gather your things, and let us head to the LogiCity Turku Airport, the fourth busiest airport in this, the Land of the Finns. Away, away!"
Leaping onto nearby snowmobiles that two young roustabouts had kept idling as they perpetrated the most heinous crime in Finland - speaking without reason to people on the streets - Wulfram and Perun roared to the LogiCity Turku Airport. Exclusively owned and operated by Finavia, the LogiCity Turku Airport is the largest business development in Turku. Were you aware that the new development opportunities at the LogiCity Turku Airport provide over a million square meters of floorspace in an area considered identical to the opportunities recently released in Helsinki, due to the modal transportation possibilities vis a vis the Port of Turku? Don't wait, apply for your floorspace today at LogiCity Turku Airport. After driving their appropriated snowmobiles past all three security guards at the airport, they raced down the runway alongside a speeding 737 belonging to Astraeus Air, and leapt from it onto the landing gear as it raised into the fuselage.
Four minutes and seventeen seconds later, they opened the hatch to climb into the compartment. The captain, nametag emblazoned "Paul B. Dickinson", pulled them from below with a hearty wink. "Good to see you lads again," he said. "I'm flying down to Beirut, then we're getting this baby a new paint job and taking her on the road for some rock band. Eye Ron May Deen, or something like that. I, as an airline pilot, have never heard of a rock and roll band before."
"Excellent," Perun said. "Beirut is exactly where we need to be, Mr. Pilot that I've never seen on stage 25 times."
"How did you know what my name translates to in Kazahkstani?" Dickinson said incredulously.
Perun gave his trademark enigmatic smile. Fourteen passengers fainted out of lust, and a fifteenth out of fright. "I speak ninety three different languages, of which seventeen are ancient Persian dialects that will only become useful when Ragnarok happens."
The crew of the airplane pretended to understand, then decided it was just best to put Perun and Wulfram in first class and give them all the wine they wanted, rather than risk their famous rages.
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Beirut was a city that had recently been under siege, which made it easy for Wulfram to round up a ride for him and his companion. Roaring down the main street of the town in brand new Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10Rs, Perun laughed as the wind slapped him in the face aggressively. He enjoyed the bike, which came in multiple colours. His was neon green, and Wulfram's was neon blue. There was nothing quite like feeling the 998 cc four-stroke, liquid cooled, 16-valve DOHC, inline four engine send you racing along a wartorn street at a top speed of 290 km/h, hitting 100 km/h in 2.8 seconds from a standstill. Constructed entirely of lightweight carbon fibre and titanium, the 2020 model Ninja ZX-10R is the best-in-class racing bike from Kawasaki, developing 146.9 kW of power on 124.5 kW of torque. Two time winner of the Best Superbike award from
Cycle World magazine, this bike is available now at a Kawasaki dealer near you! Using the unprecedented maneuverability, the two twisted in and out of traffic and rubble, eventually arriving at their destination: Beirut City Hall.
Stepping off the bikes, Perun pulled forth his identification badge. "I am Perun," he said simply. "This is Wulfram. We aren't the droids you're looking for."
"These aren't the droids we're looking for," the stormtroopers said.
"We can go about our business."
"You can go about your business," the stormtroopers agreed.
"Move along," Perun said, disdainfully.
Waving his hand to the two, the stormtrooper agreed. "Move along, move along!" he said with some urgency. Perun and Wulfram obliged, walking up the steps into the massive City Hall building.
They entered, and paused. It was almost silent. Distant footsteps echoed at the edge of their hearing. The two looked quietly at each other. "The cheese is here?" Wulfram asked.
Shaking his head, Perun answered subvotto. "No, but the key to finding the cheese is here. It's down there," he said, pointing to a nearby stairwell. The two men hustled towards it, descending down stone steps into a cavernous basement filled with shelves and old cabinets. They navigated slowly, Perun pausing at the various junctions to close his eyes and wait for the siren sound of cheese to come to him. After some time had passed, they opened a steel door that had been corroded over time. Wulfram put his shoulder to it, and it scraped across the ground with a loud squeal.
Inside was a single table, on which sat an ancient white device, like a bar of soap.
"My gods," Wulfram said as they approached it. "It's a first generation iPod!"
Perun nodded, as if he had expected this type of challenge. "It's from a time before touch screens. See that doughnut-shaped area? That's a touchpad. You have to move your fingers around it, in a circle, to maneuver the menus. It's annoying and costly. Truly, a great discovery. We must be cautious. This is clearly a trap."
Wulfram paused in the act of extending a hand as Perun moved up to the iPod. The veteran adventurer was wily, and pulled out a sack that he had filled with sand, just in case, when they had previously been on Guadalcanal during a previous adventure. He measured the weight of the iPod visually, then spilled some spare sand on the floor so the bag's weight might match that of the ancient, soap-bar sized device.
"It's nothing like what we have today," Perun said, in a hushed voice. "To think Apple went from this to the brand new iPhone 11 Pro Max. The iPhone 11 Pro Max," he said to Wulfram, "Is the current best-in-class smartphone retailed by Apple Inc. Running iOS 13.4.1 and sporting a hexa-core CPU configuration with two high power Lightning cores at 2.66 GHz for your processing needs and four low-power Thunder cores at 1.82 GHz to take care of your day to day operation, the iPhone 11 Pro Max balances your need to do heavy lifting with your desire for a long battery life. With a brightly lit 164mm screen capable of 2688 x 1242 pixels, the iPhone 11 Pro Max will show you all of your pictures taken on your dual 12 megapixel cameras in their proper beauty. Facetime your friends with ease and stay connected with the iPhone 11 Pro Max, available at retailers near you." He moved in close, and poised the bag of sand near the iPod, hovering it in the air as the tense John Williams music in the background flared to a crescendo. And then he switched them with an nimbleness belying his Prussian birth.
"Gotcha," he said, cockily, as he hefted the iPod.
And then the door slammed shut with a loud clang. The light in the room flickered, and a hissing noise became evidence. "Gas! We need a supply of air!" Wulfram exclaimed. But then something worse happened. A speaker crackled to life, and began to warble. "
I'm lyin' alone, with my head on my phone..."
"Damn, they took you literally," Perun said, as he turned to the door. He wasn't sure which they'd succumb to first, the poison gas slowly filling the room or the terrible hits of yesteryear. "I knew the Forces of Pop were interfering. They must have arranged this deathtrap for us!"
"What will we do!" Wulfram panicked, his Brazilian-Thai accent thickening with fear.
Perun tapped the iPad and it turned on, casting a lazy light over the door. "Good, there's some battery left," he said. "Calm down, Wulfy, we'll find the answer. There must be a way out...aha!"
"What have you found?" Wulfram asked, crowding close.
"The Forces of Pop have trapped the door. But there's a puzzle. It'll involve converting Octavian-era Roman currency amounts into different coinage of the pre-Bactrian era, and then placing the appropriate equivalent coinage weight into buckets designed to emulate the various cargoes commonly trafficked on the Silk Road."
It would make me believe what tomorrow could bring
When today doesn't really know, doesn't really know
Choking on the lyrics, or possibly the poison gas, Wulfram whined. "No, how could they, the monsters? It's literally the most obscure thing in the world. We'll die here. Die!"
"Maybe other international men of mystery and metal might perish on this day. But not us. It just so happens, Wulfy, that I am an expert in this type of thing. We just need to consider the weight of silver when minted during the last days of the Roman Republic, and then convert it over, remember the difference in weighting, and then give it to silk and finished goods in the buckets.....ah, damn, that should be it."
I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you
I know you were right believing for so long
"Hurry," Wulfram said, gasping as the song overtook him. "Hurry, it's the chorus."
"Damn," Perun muttered again. "Damn," he repeated. "That should be it, I converted the coin to pre-Bactrian coinage, I considered the different in purity and mix, and I entered it into the buckets in proportion for silk, metal, finished goods, and other trade pieces. Damn, what did I...aha!" He snapped his fingers.
Wulfram was lying on the floor, breathing hard, convulsing in pain as the British pop duo hit their second crescendo. He couldn't answer, but his eyes pleaded for Perun to tell him.
"I forgot to take the percentage that a moneychanger would take if Romans and pre-Bactrians interacted at a trade post. Silly me!" He plucked away a single weight and with the sound of a record scratch the music stopped and the door opened. The two men spilled out and collapsed to the floor, gasping for air and good music.
Perun plugged in his headset to the iPod and spun it to a band he hadn't recognized. "Kryptos," he murmured. "Let's listen."
As the two heard what were admittedly fairly bland power chords, they began to smile. "You found it!" Wulfram exclaimed.
"We found it," he said. The two shook hands.