Rescue Molestation

        "Take off your pants."
         Adam jumped awake.
         He wasn't sure what he had just heard, but he had hoped it was some kind of a dream. Not really, since he certainly wouldn't have wanted to admit it was his dream, and was a bit worried at the prospect of such a thing. But he was also certain that it was not, so he was even more worried about that. There was a lot of worry going on all around.
         "E... Excuse me?"
         "I said; take off your pants."
          Wilhelmina, the roughly-around-ten-or-eleven-or-whatever year old girl Sophie looked after was kneeling on top of his sheets, holding a knife to his throat. He was certainly not any more happy to realize that he was possibly about to get forced to do something suspiciously highly illegal with him as the victim, but which he'd still probably get blamed for. Even though he was strong enough to move a bit more now, he was still not strong enough to push her off of him, nor fast enough especially when she was holding the knife to his face.
         "Err... So... is there some money in my pants you're trying to get, or...?"
         "No."
         "Okay... We're cool here. We... We're all cool."
          He waited. He obviously wasn't about to just accept the situation, but he wasn't sure what else he could do. Maybe if he got the knife away from her, and managed to get hold of it himself, then he'd be out of danger... at least slightly. But he couldn't move fast enough to grab it, could he? He had to try.
          Wait, what was he thinking about. Was a ten year old really jaded enough to knife him over this?  Wait... if 'this' was even a thing, then probably yes. He would need to operate under such an assumption. Could he talk her out of it? What could he say?
           His mind blanked out. Suddenly he became more sorry for her than anything. She must have been abused in some way when she was younger, and then maybe... gotten unable to deal with life without it. Was that even possible? He wasn't sure which other things could lead to anything like this.
           He wondered if Sophie even knew... She might be depressed, but she certainly wasn't crazy enough to think anything like this was normal.
           ...Was she? It had been awhile.
          The knife pressed closer down on him, now. He realized that he was going to have to say something again.
         "I think perhaps you should think through this. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea."
          That wouldn't mean anything to someone who had been severely abused, would it? What would? Would acting in control of the situation do anything? Or just make her more determined.
          She leaned down, and said quietly.
         "Don't worry. I think it's a good idea."
          Well, she was certainly determined. That wasn't a response he hoped for. He was about to try to think of a way to phrase his dissent whe...
         "G.Ghah!"
           She suddenly stabbed the knife into his shoulder, slowly pushing it down. He screamed, and moved his arm to clutch it in pain, but she apparently didn't mind. His arm was getting cut, too, from trying weakly to grab the blade, and failing to not touch the sharp sides. Perhaps she found that even more enjoyable to her.
            Or... maybe she didn't even enjoy it. Maybe it was all she knew.
           ...But that was a wake up call for him. He might be weak, but his hand was now on the knife. She had allowed him to grab it. He used a greater portion of his strength to push it to the side, pulling it back out of him. (Though in the process causing his shoulder even more pain. The exertion caused the rest of him to feel limp and weak. He went pale) This caused her to drop the knife, which was flung to the floor. He knew this solution wouldn't work for long, but it gave him another minute, maybe. He was still too weak to fight back, especially with an arm down, and now twitching in pain. He was still clutching it.
            She looked at him. Coldly and cruelly. And looked to the side where the knife had fallen. She grabbed his head, and started slamming it into the headboard, giving him a major headache, and extreme pain to his injuries. After a few slams, she was apparently satisfied that he was running low on strength, and climbed down to re-pick up the knife.
             She stopped and looked at it on the ground. It was sitting now in a reasonably sized pool of blood, which led up the bed, and then a trail to his arm. She turned pale, and looked visibly afraid of the blood for some reason; Adam wasn't about to question why. He looked around for something to protect himself with, headache raging, but nothing was in close quarters. There was a lamp, but... but what? It's not like he would hit someone that young with a lamp. What could he do with it? Brandish it as a defense?  Hope she was afraid of it?
             ...Even better. It was the only lamp in the room. If he broke the light or unplugged it, she wouldn't be able to see. Maybe she was still afraid of the dark. She was young after all. He grabbed the lamp's plug, and pulled lightly on it. It hurt his hand to try to. He wrapped it all the way around his hand, and pulled again. This time it slowly came out, and the room went dark.
             He strained to see, blinking for a few moments. The entire room was dark now, so he couldn't tell where she was. The boilers (or whatever they were) in the room still made a loud humming, so he couldn't even hear her. Did she leave? Was she coming back.
             His eyes finally adjusted to the darker light, so he could see the room around him. He looked around, and... she was still there. But no longer standing. She was on the ground, in a fetal position; sitting there silently crying to herself; within a meter of the place the knife had fallen.
             And... she stayed there... on the ground. This went on for a long time. How long, he couldn't judge. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But he realized something. He felt sorry for her before, but really began to, now. Young children did not end up this way from their own faults. In the end, she was likely nothing but another victim of someone else. A cold, broken child who was frightened and scared of being alone. Perhaps abused by her own parents. Perhaps by others. Perhaps abandoned.
             He found himself hating whoever had done this to her. He knew nothing about them, little enough about her herself... but he knew they were there.... out there... somewhere. He had not thought about it really since he had been rescued, but his old hatred of people was coming back now. Who did they think they were, (whoever they were) having the right to act so cruelly to someone so young?
             What was it... he remembered. In the end it came from people's lack of understanding. People had never quite got it through their heads that new people... new entities like themselves came into existence from their actions. That everything that resulted from it... everything... someone's whole life could be destroyed... figuratively, or even literally, because others simply never stopped to bother ascribing the same protection to others as they did to themselves.
              Children were property to them. Resources. Put them down, train them to be slaves, beat them, kill them off, if your views are nihilistic enough... whatever else... they lost their own inner child, and so had no sympathy for them... nothing. Adam had had some experience dealing with children. It had helped him understand them better. But... he wouldn't act so cruelly to them if he had not... would he? What was it that caused people to be like this?
              There were... so many... people like this.
              He looked back at Wilhelmina. She wasn't moving now. Probably asleep. The floor looked hard; it wasn't carpeted. Some type of solid stone or granite. He wondered if she was used to sleeping places like that. He knew he probably wouldn't have been able to. The good thing about being in an abandoned city is that there's infinite beds for you to choose from.
              ...Or... had he always used a bed? No; he slept on the ground a few times, didn't he? He didn't remember. It was soft ground, though. Dirt, not solid stone. Why would there be dirt in a city?
              He blinked.
              He looked up. One of the twins was standing over her looking down, with their bare feet touching the end of the blood. The uber-pale white skin caused a fairly stark contrast with it. He had come to be told that their names were Matty and Sandy, but it did him little good. They both looked identical to him, so he could not use their individual names even if he wanted to.
             ...Which he didn't. He didn't call people by name.
             He opened his mouth to explain, but was not even sure where to begin. Would they believe him? Would he somehow get blamed? He hoped they did not assume the blood was hers.
            "Poor child."
             The twin crouched over, and put their hand on her head, petting her hair slightly.
            "I... she came in with a knife, and..."
            "That's alright. We know."
            "You... you do?"
            "We've watched over many children. There are always so many who are willing to do them harm."
             "I... I meant."
             "She is burdened. We should let her rest. Even if for a short time."
             "How did... do you know what happened to her?"
             "A lot of things things happened. We can only hope that one day she will find peace. And be there holding her hand on the way."
             "..."
             "You know... We will not be able to be here indefinitely. But if you choose to stay here, this too will become your responsibility."
             "I... I have nowhere else to be either way."
              Her body was picked up from the ground, and cradled by the youth. They began to walk out the door, but stopped and turned their head.
             "You should get some rest, too. Don't overexert yourself. There is still much hope for the future."
             "I..."
              But he was once again alone. He stared at the empty doorway for awhile. He began to wonder again who would have sent people so young who appeared to be from far elsewhere to a random country which was at war, and what for. Or whether they were even here on their own. They certainly seemed like they had a real purpose they needed to stay competen... well... their idea of competent for. Certainly more than the aimlessness he could now not but help see in Sophie's eyes any time he looked at her.
            "Oh yeah. I'm still bleeding to death."
              He looked back at his shoulder. He suddenly realized that they must have seen the blood, but... did they notice his shoulder? Hopefully he was not being left to heal on his own. A wound this big could easily get infected. He hadn't had time to realize how much pain he was in.
             Then he looked up again. The other twin was standing on the opposite side of his bed, smiling at him, and holding a roll of bandages in their mouth. In fact, for all he knew, it was the same one even, though that seemed unlikely. They took it out, and held it up.
            "Now; let's get those cuts of yours looked at."