Magic potions. Hah. They’re not worth the chemicals they’re made of.
The military thought they had a nifty magic potion that could make soldiers harder, stronger, faster, better. They gave it to my father, and he became Deathstroke. A mercenary, a killer for hire. Cost him his family, too, the one he made before he met my mother.
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I just pray you did not inherit the immortality with yours....
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