Consciousness returned to him slowly, pushing back the dark fog that clouded his vision. His thoughts were even slower to return, for he surveyed his surroundings bleary-eyed for several minutes before recognition crossed his face.
He sat up with a jolt, searching for enemies. His dark eyes darted about, drinking in the dark and dismal details as he tried to remember what had occurred. A pressure bandage was applied to his left thigh and his head throbbed horribly, but how and why was still a mystery. Beside him sat a bag, which he opened slowly to find a hypospray labeled with a pain-relieving medicine and…
… two Mandalorian gauntlets…

“That’s it?” Sylus asked incredulously.
“Huh?” replied Terrik absently, looking up from where the medical droid was patching up his leg.
Sylus crossed his arms, “I ask ‘What happened?’ and you say you don’t remember much of it at all? Just a bunch of running and fighting?”
The injured Jedi shrugged, “Well,” he said as he turned off the table and slid off, gingerly testing his leg, “There’s not much to say.”
“Not much to say? Not much to say? I flew over the full Battle of Geonosis reenacted within one city block!”
Terrik shook his head and grabbed his jacket and bag, “You’re exaggerating.”
“In your valiant unconsciousness, did you happen to miss the fire, the explosions, blaster bolts whizzing everywhere, walls falling down…”
“Yep.”
Sylus followed Terrik out the door, chuckling, “So… all you are getting from this little wild nerf-chase is a scar that says ‘Fett was here.”
“Well… that and this…” he tossed Sylus the bag.
The young Jedi caught it and opened it, “No way…” he breathed, his mouth agape.