There were more memories. A slightly older Ben leaned against a different hutt, doing nothing as it groped him. Kneeling in front of a trandoshan bounty hunter, face held against its groin, struggling to breathe around him. Chained against the wall, naked, trying to hide his face as a needle pierced his skin repeatedly, the pattern on his exposed hip already present. Crushed under the weight of a pirate, pleading for mercy in broken Huttese because that was all he was allowed to speak, a tally mark carved into the small of his back as the man finished. Thrown to a pit fighter, hair grown out and braided, dressed in a replica of the red and gold outfit they'd seen in their mother's nightmares, gold chain laced through rows of rings down his thighs. Screaming as a different fighter hoisted him into the air by hooks through skin and muscle.