He’s a Fox Ch 102

Chapter 102

He began by checking everything around him. Nothing in the room had changed since he’d first been brought in. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a table—even a single‑seater sofa—but the only thing he could actually use was the bed.

Because the collar forced his full beast form, furniture made to human scale was awkward to use—and unnecessary. Knowing that and still putting him in a room like this felt like pure bad taste.

To make it worse, everything smelled brand‑new, the sharp scent of fresh furniture saturating the air. The fox, sitting on the bed, buried his muzzle in the sheets mid‑scan. The other pieces carried the same odor, but less so than the three huge wooden wardrobes lining an entire wall without a gap.

Even so, two consolations existed. First, there weren’t any cameras in the room. Second, the soundproofing was good enough that whatever he did inside was unlikely to be heard. Of course, with guards posted at the door twenty‑four hours a day, there was little reason to peer into what was essentially a sealed space.

He slid off the bed and padded to the floor. The room wasn’t small, but space was finite; he’d already mentally mapped most of it. Still, he hoped there was something he’d overlooked.

He drew a deep breath. Beneath the furniture scent lurked a faint smell of dust. Clearly, this wasn’t a room used often. Not that the information had much use. With that, he moved on to the furniture itself—checking the sofa crevices for anything dropped, testing the bed frame for any parts that might come loose. Lastly, he headed for the wardrobes.

There were three to examine, and little else to do—no problem. He bounded up toward the handle of the left‑most wardrobe. After a few failed scrabbles, he managed to hang from it. A couple vigorous kicks, and the door creaked open. Dropping back down, his paws landed with a damp slap. He’d worked hard enough that his pads were slick with sweat. Puffing, he slipped inside.

The smell inside hit even stronger. Dry wood rushed up his sinuses the moment his paw crossed the threshold; his nose wrinkled. Better than naphthalene, but not pleasant. The interior was spotless—no clothes, nothing—and a quick look turned up nothing else. He backed out and opened the others. Same as the first.

Why put these here at all? A table, a bed, a sofa—fine. But three wardrobes with no need for clothes? It wasn’t like they’d been here before; everything was new. That didn’t add up. His tail lashed, thwacking the wall in irritation. As he listened to the soft thuds, something felt off. He jerked upright and raked his claws down the wardrobe.

Scrrch‑scrrch‑scrrch. He gouged hard enough to leave marks, then tilted his head. He dashed out and did the same to the others, but his confusion only grew. The left and right wardrobes gave a muffled, blocked sound when scratched, as if something was behind them; the middle one sounded lighter. Pressing both forepaws to the side wall of the center wardrobe, he felt it shift oddly. There was space behind it.

Suspicious indeed. One of three in a row with empty space behind it? Worth investigating. He gently shut the others, climbed back into the suspect one, set his claws, and began to dig into the wall itself. Unlike his earlier test scratches, he put his whole weight into it; the wooden panel didn’t just scar, it began to shed.

He’d always wondered, watching movies where someone tunneled out with a spoon, if it were possible. Now, trying something similar, he had an answer: possible, maybe—but insanely hard. Wood was bad enough; how much effort would concrete take? He was mid‑work when a rattling noise sounded at the door. Ears pricking, he dove down.

External “intervention” happened once a day—mealtimes. Even with good soundproofing, the lock turning could be felt through the door, not just heard.

He shut the wardrobe and leapt to the bed. The door opened; a hulking silhouette poked in. The tray was shoved in roughly. The brute flicked a glance at the motionless bundle on the bed, then left without entering to check. Three days of staying still had trained their expectations, it seemed. That, or simple dislike made them uninterested.

The instant the door closed again, the fox padded to the tray. His mouth felt sandy, and he had no appetite—but he’d need strength for what came next. He forced himself to eat. He cleaned the bowl and water dish, then returned to the bed. Urgent as his situation was, rushing would only ruin things.

After a short while, the door opened again. The brute retrieved the empty dishes and left. Only then did the fox resume. With steady cycles of eat, rest, and claw at the target, a small hole finally appeared in the wardrobe panel. Seeing a gap as thick as two finger joints, he exhaled in relief. As expected—the other side was hollow. The work would be worth it.

The hole was still too small to see details. He licked his throbbing paws and stoked his resolve. At least now he had another method besides clawing.

He parted his jaws and began carefully gnawing from the edges. The chips that fell, he spat through to the far side. A cleaner’s nightmare—but not his problem.

Thanks to thinning the board with his claws, the chewing wasn’t too hard. Crunch, crunch—the hole widened steadily. When the opening, once under ten centimeters, grew to five times that, he stuck his head through. One look, and he understood why the furniture was arranged the way it was. A small window sat there.

Right—rooms without windows are rare. Someone had needed to cover it. A single wardrobe left too easy to move; better to curtain an entire wall. Whoever proposed it had never considered someone might dismantle furniture.

Pleased at outfoxing them, he wagged his tail and wriggled into the new space. It took a lot of effort—a few strained whines—but head to tail, he squeezed through.

He looked out the window and sighed. Fewer than in the corridor, yes—but the outside still teemed with hulking bodies. Would this be a path out? A frontal break was impossible. He’d have to pick a corner and slip… Thank goodness this was the ground floor; if not, he’d have had to risk the hall instead.

He scanned the terrain and ran permutations. Then his eyes snagged on a figure—and he doubted his own sight. Black fur. Long, thick muzzle. A height that towered even among predators. A very familiar bear stood there.