Aliases: Aminia Twain
Height: 5’ 4”
Hair Color: Mousey Brown
Eye Color: Hazel
Birthplace: Kansas City, Missouri
Power Source: Multi-dimensional Resurrection, In-depth knowledge of heroes
Group Affiliation: None
First Appearance: Freedom Five Annual #3
"They. . . didn't save me."
The darkness closed in around her, pressing, crushing, choking. Aminia felt blind panic, like shadowed hands squeezing her desperately thudding heart up again her ribs and then-- nothing. Darkness. Silence. And one thought: "They didn't save me."
Suddenly, the light hit her eyelids with searing brightness as she snapped into life with a jolt. She gasped for air. "Ms. Twain? Are you alright?" Dr. Stinson asked quickly.
"Hiccups?" Mr. Parsons asked in his usual, genial manner. She felt her stomach churn - how did she ever find that phony charisma so charming? She smiled weakly and nodded, feigning another hiccup, before excusing herself from the meeting for a cup of water. Shutting the door behind her, she melted, stunned, on the other side of the wall. The meeting continued on within the room behind her - they didn't even notice her absence.
What happened? Her eyes darted around the familiar headquarters of the Freedom Five, but not everything seemed like how she'd left it. Things were different. She was different. She had died. The darkness had lifted to unveil a changed world. Or perhaps, perhaps only she had changed? She went to the sink to fill the "World's Finest Assistant" mug Dr. Stinson gave her three years before they let her die. This one's handle had yet to crack.
This world was most definitely different than the one she left, but no difference cast such a stark contrast as the difference she felt inside. No longer was she the devoted, sheepish secretary who alerted the Freedom Five to where trouble emerged, who placed orders for Tachyon's many pairs of new footwear, who copied memos from the President, who washed sweaty spandex uniforms. Now, she was awake.
Aminia straightened up her jacket and opened the door to return to the job she perfected in her previous life. No longer would she skip date night to remove every fleck of red dust from their precious equipment. Nor would she lose sleep worrying about the calls she would make to loved ones with bad news after a battle. For never again would she shed a tear for the Freedom Five. No. For now, all she heard amid the cheer of the grateful crowds and the praise of the adoring public was that one final thought. They had a choice - me, their devoted servant, who gave EVERYTHING . . . or five total strangers.
"They didn't save me."
"Can they save themselves?"