Taro spent the next few hours skulking around the back of the cell, hissing and muttering to himself. He was trying to plot, but wasn't really getting anywhere. All his plans just seemed far too unrealistic. And the worry about what was going to happen to him next kept cropping up in his mind. But, not wanting to think about it, Taro kept pushing the thoughts away, not wanting to even contemplate what horrors may be in store for him.
At last, having just stopped contemplating digging a hole through the wall, Taro sat down in the corner and fumed. He was all out of ideas, and was frankly on the verge of despair. There was no way out of this, he was trapped. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to escape, where would he hide? The whole city would be after him in seconds.
And he'd probably be dead before he got that far anyway.
With a cry of frustration Taro slammed his fist into the cell wall. It hurt more than he thought it would and he snatched it back with a yowl. Bright red blood oozed from his crimson knuckles, Taro growled and wiped them irritatedly on his trouser leg. He heard a small sigh to his left and whipped his head around to see a small figure sitting in the darkest corner of the cell, a smile of faint amusement on its lips:
"Well now, that wasn't very clever was it?"