*Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.*

"IRS: We've got what it takes to take what you've got. HAPPY TAX SEASON!!!"

For A Better Tomorrow

Doctor Kollens liked to believe he was a righteous man. Very rarely did he fall into his temptation. He believed, truly believed that everything he did was for the greater good, for a better tomorrow. A tomorrow his children and his children's children could live in and never know what fear, hate, or anger ever felt like. That is why he did what he did. That is why he joined up for the Alliance at the tender age of sixteen. And that was why he still worked for them even now, fifty seven years later.

He was a fairly average man with fairly average looks. His hair was graying now that he as getting up in his age and his midsection was filling out as gravity started to get the best of him. Small round spectacles sat upon his hooked nose, aiding him in his failing far sightedness.

It was a late Saturday night, just past the eleven o'clock hour, and as a trauma surgeon he was surprisingly bored. They had very few incidents come into the emergency ward, and only two which required his attention. That soon changed though, for just down the street, just four and three quarters of a block down a mugging was taking place. And it went terribly, terribly wrong.

* * * * *

Molly McManus was always a loud, boisterous person, and loved by many. She was a fairly average twenty two year old woman, with curly red hair, blue eyes, and a little on the plump side, but her smile could light up the room. Her most memorable feature though, was not her appearance or her personality, it was her accent.

She grew up on a small farm in one of the many Alliance controlled outer rings. Although always poor, her family was a large and loving one and she grew up happy with what she had and never, never asked for a credit more. Her Ma and Da raised her right, her seven brothers taught her to be independent and self reliant, and her five sisters taught her to use her looks and personality to her advantage. But of course, growing up with so many siblings and in such a small community, Molly McManus had one hell of a mouth on her.

Her Irish tilt took the sting out of her words and made her more likeable. And her appearance made her appear ignorant, frail, and usable. But she was anything but that. At fifteen, she used what little money she had saved up in order to buy a charter on the first ship she could find heading into one of the core planets. She was going to make something of herself and God help whoever got in her way.

Two rosaries hung around her neck, hidden within her shirt. One belonged to her Ma and the other her Da, both passed down from their parents and so on and so forth. They had been in the family for nine generations, and being the first McManus to ever leave their tiny little planet, her parents thought it befitting to give her both, that way the Lord would always be with her.

Her comfortable white trainers made very little noise as she walked off of the transport bus and onto the street below. Spending three years a trauma nurse, she discovered comfortable overruled practicality. She worked graveyard shift anyways, and Doctor Kollens, the only supervisor in their wing overlooked the small things, as long as it didn't interfere with their work. Besides, with her eight and a half months pregnant, she doubted her swollen feet would fit into anything else.

Quickening her steps, Molly walked at a fast pace, well more of a wobble, seeing as she couldn't lift her legs quite right for it to be called walking, and hurried in order to make it to her shift on time. Doctor Kollens overlooked many things, tardiness was not one of them.

She stopped suddenly when a small foot decided to play hopscotch on her ribs. It was probably Murphy at it again, the boys most likely got into another disagreement. She knew she was carrying twins before the positive even came back on her pregnancy. She didn't know how she knew, she just did. She had already even named them.

Molly had informed everyone that she was carrying twin boys, one named Connor, after her uncle, and the other Murphy, after her cousin. Even without the ultrasound she could tell them apart. Connor was usually on her left side, slightly below Murphy's position, while the other was more often then not lodged within her ribs on the right side, just underneath her lungs. Connor was more subdued while Murphy was always fussing.

Rubbing her stomach in a soothing gesture, Molly once again took off in a fast walk. They were going to be trouble when they were born, she knew this as well. They were fighters, both of them, and she somehow knew without knowing that nothing in the 'verse could ever tare them apart.

She could see the hospital now, just several more blocks down. With only seven more minutes until her shift started, she walked as fast as she could without running so she would make it on time. So distracted by the thought of being late she never saw the man in the black hoody until he pointed a gun in her face. At that precise moment in time, like she knew with her boys, she knew at exactly that second, she would never get to see her babies. Sometimes she really hated God.

* * * * *

The supervising surgeon was enjoying a rustic ham, turkey, lettuce, and tomato sandwich with mayo when Nurse Ecklis ran in demanding he scrub up and get ready for surgery. Throwing he half eaten dinner into the trash, he ran out of the room and down to the Operating Room.

It was a twenty two year old woman with a gunshot wound to the chest, fractured ribs, broken tibia, and carrying child. He went through the motion of preparing for surgery without ever thinking about it. Jonathan Kollens could prep in his sleep he had done it so often. A nurse tied his operating gown from the back while another snapped his gloves over his sterilized hands.

He knew it was a lost cause before he even entered the room, but that didn't mean he would just give up. He mentally walked himself through the surgery and all possible outcomes, but nothing could prepare him for what he saw laying upon the table before him.

Doctor Kollens like to believe he was a righteous man. Very rarely did he fall into his temptation. Right there, on the table, bleeding, broken, and barely breathing was one such temptation he could not resist. It was Nurse McManus, it was Molly. He could still remember the first day he saw her, dressed in her baby blue smocks, red curly hair framing her barely plump face, electric blue eyes full of love and joy. He fell in love with her then, married though he was he fell in love with her.

He knew, just like she, that the children she carried were his. When Jonathan found out that their illicit love affair had produced consequences of unimaginable retribution he had demanded that she abort the pregnancy. Coming from a very religious background and believing all life was sacred, she had refused. He was her boss, he could order her to do it, but he found out in the very short time he knew her, like all men did, that Molly was a force to be reckoned with. If he were to demand again that she loose the lives within her, she would expose him to not only his wife and family, but to the board of trusties as well. He couldn't afford it.

Instead Molly had informed him that she would bare the children to term, raise them as any mother would, and with a mother like her they would never need a father. They agreed that he would give them a small percentage of his income, such an insignificant amount that it would never be questioned. He would never need to see the children and they would never know about him. It was a win-win situation as far as he saw it.

It took an insistent nurse to pull him from his shock and snap him into action. He read the floating monitor screen as he moved into place; she had lost blood, too much blood. Another doctor was hooking her up for a transfusion as he demanded a scalpel and got to work. Suddenly he wished his night could go back to being boring.

* * * * *

The surgery lasted for four hours, twenty nine minutes, and eighteen seconds. Molly McManus died on the operating table at the age of twenty two, at 3:47 AM local time, Sunday morning of June seventh. Connor and Murphy McManus were born through cesarean at 3:49 AM local time, just two minutes after their mother was declared dead.

Doctor Kollens had thought he had lost three patients that day when he pulled the two tiny bodies out of their mother's womb. They didn't move, didn't cry, they didn't even breathe. He had hated himself in the moment, as he looked upon their small unmoving lifeless bodies and all he could feel was relief. With their mother dead and no known family, they would have done a DNA test to find relatives and everyone would have known his dirty little secret.

But then two identical cries filled the small sterilized operating room at the exact same time and everyone around him cried in joy. They were alive, and all Jonathan Kollens could feel was self loathing as they wailed in the arms of two female nurses, both who were mothers themselves. He needed to do something about them before child services showed up and exposed him for the sinner he was.

Snapping his gloves off and removing his surgical cover, Doctor Kollens ripped his phone out of his pocket and called the first person he could think of. It was an old friend who worked for the Alliance's Research Department. Professor Marcus Ballmer had been looking for more subjects to mold into Operatives, and now Kollens had the perfect candidate, two in fact.

Later, after the twins disappeared, he would file a report saying they died of respiratory failure during the night do to underdeveloped lungs. They were premature after all, nobody would question it.

Jonathan Kollens was by no means heartless, he had three sons himself, and so he informed his long time friend that the twins were to retain their names and their mother's rosaries. He felt he owed Molly that much at least.

Doctor Kollens liked to believe he was a righteous man. Very rarely did he fall into his temptations. And yet, as this righteous man hung up with another who felt he was just as justified, he could not help but hate himself just a little bit more. But it needed to be done for the greater good, for a better tomorrow.