"Well, hypothetically, of course. He may not be our man." A mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as a wave a greenish energy moved over his form, his features contorted, aged, and then Hank was looking in a mirror, albeit a mirror with a playful glint in its eye.
The remainder was even spoken in Hank's voice. "I am the God of Mischief, you know."
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The remainder was even spoken in Hank's voice. "I am the God of Mischief, you know."