One of the posts holding the cage door has come loose from its mooring. With each blow, Yuri bends it further, drags more of it free of the concrete. The cage was built well, but it wasn't built by people who really knew the toll repeated attacks by a full grown grizzly would take on it after months of use. Soon, there's a gap into which he can squeeze his head and a paw, and soon he's pried it far open enough to squeeze through, a piece of the jagged metal scraping through his fur and drawing blood. Snarling, he bounds for the partly door, ramming it open with his shoulder. He cries out in pain as silverware goes flying, and stumbles to a painful halt in the corridor.