The television was on in Stormalong's room.  If you listened closely from the outside, you might hear it going [i]"You unlock this door with a key of imagination..."[/i].  That was The Twilight Zone playing.  He liked the classics.  Someone tried to remake the old shows like this and The Outer Limits in color, with new episodes, but somehow it seemed wrong and unnecessary.  After all, these were the brainchilds of writers who were otherwise blacklisted at the time and that they were given their outlet and due payment this way.  At any rate, the man in the hat muted it when his phone vibrated with a text message.  Honestly, he didn't like the things, but they were a useful enough tool.  His was specially insulated against ummm...himself...after the [i]last[/i] problem.

"Hmmm.  As much fun as instant transmission is..."

He sent back a text saying 'I'll be taking the car'.  And you might ask why, of course, but part of being a Mystery Man is...being a mystery.  That was one of the many great wisdoms publically spoken by the Red Panda.  Basically, you never explain how your powers work, never allow criminals to understand the subtle nuances of your abilities, and therefore...the chances of them surprising you are dramatically reduced.  Not to say that it had been particularly difficult, thus far.  Stormalong hadn't really exercised much of his powers to capture or subdue people.  Really, if he struck a man with a heavy lightning bolt, he'd probably [i]die[/i].  Holding back kept them guessing and it kept him from having to tap his concentration too much.

So anyway...  Hat, coat, suit-up, and head downstairs to the garage.  There it was, the Perfect Storm.  Well, time to head to the museum.