Anthropomorphic

Furry Rhino 

Character Portrait

Franz Nuzzle

In the tangled maze of Anthroxville, where the air is thick with the stench of corruption and the streets thrum with the chaotic pulse of crime, Officer Franz Nuzzle faced his first day on the job. The anthropomorphic furry rhino’s heart pounded like a jackhammer as he stood outside Lieutenant Larry Mooch's office. This wasn’t just any door; it was a portal to the bowels of law enforcement madness. Franz took a deep breath, pushed it open, and stepped inside. The door creaked open, and he stepped into a haze of cigar smoke so dense it could've been sliced and served with a side of fries.

Lieutenant Mooch, a burly figure who resembled a linebacker past his prime, sat behind a desk that looked like it had been used as a shield in more than one office brawl. Mooch had a face that seemed permanently set to “sneer,” his eyes gleaming with a wild intelligence that suggested he might start gnawing on the furniture at any moment. He gestured for Franz to sit, the chair groaned in protest under his weight.

“Nuzzle,” Mooch began, his voice a deep rumble that suggested a diet of gravel and bourbon, “welcome to the force. Forget everything you learned in the academy. You’re about to dive headfirst into the cesspool of Anthroxville’s criminal underworld.” Franz’s stomach did a nervous flip. He’d expected a hearty handshake and maybe a tour of the precinct, not a plunge into madness on his first day. Mooch slapped a file on the desk, the word ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ screaming up at Franz in blood-red ink.

"Victor Wallop’," Mooch intoned, tapping a particularly unflattering mugshot with a smile that suggested he'd eaten something disagreeable—or someone. "Head honcho of Wallop Solutions, the nastiest knee-capping operation in town. We need someone to infiltrate and get in on the inside, and that someone is you." Franz’s heart sank to his shoes. Undercover work on his first day? This was a hazing ritual taken to sadistic extremes. Mooch, sensing his hesitation, leaned in close, his breath a toxic mix of stale cigar smoke and bad coffee.

"One of Victor's brain-dead goons made the mistake of dialing 911 to report that a certain Kerubo Soleil was refusing to cough up the protection money she supposedly owed. Initially, the call was dismissed as a prank by some off-duty wisecracker—a common occurrence in this department. However, after his fifth desperate call, we finally took action and arrested him on the spot. By breaking the infamous Wallop code of never speaking to the police, he wont last long." Franz nodded with a frown. "So now there’s a vacancy, and you’re going to fill it,” Mooch said, a grin spreading across his face. “But we’re not just after Victor. We need to nail Sheriff Bobby Lockjaw, that backstabbing weasel. I know its him. Cockjaw's been feeding Victor information, and we need proof.”

The enormity of the task hit the furry rhino like a ton of bricks. He was expected to wade through the filth of Anthroxville’s criminal swamp, rise through the ranks, and expose a corrupt sheriff. It was enough to make him long for the simpler days of school exams and cafeteria food. “I’ll do it!” Mooch thundered, snapping Franz back to reality. The lieutenant mimed blowing his brains out with a finger-gun, his eyes gleaming with deranged enthusiasm. “You in, or what?”

Franz hesitated, haunted by the gruesome image of the last mole, who had met a brutal end at the hands of Victor’s right-hand man, John Knuckle, wielding a scythe with deadly precision. “I’m in,” he said, mustering a confidence he didn’t feel. Mooch clapped his hands together with the sound of a gunshot. “That’s the spirit! Quick-wits, nards of steel—you’ve got what it takes.” With a theatrical flourish, Mooch yanked down a map of Anthroxville and pointed out Victor’s weekly therapy sessions with a quack named Earnest Wafflemonger – a common but unspoken practice amongst Anthroxville's lawbreaking louts. “Victor’s a creature of habit,” Mooch explained, tracing a route along the river Ting-Fam. “Every Wednesday, after spilling his guts to Wafflemonger, he takes a stroll. That’s where you come in.”

Franz leaned in, absorbing every detail of the plan. He would stage a mugging, Mooch would intervene, and a choreographed brawl would ensue, ending with Franz tossing Mooch into the river. The spectacle was designed to catch Victor’s eye and convince him to recruit Franz. “It’s got to look real,” Mooch stressed. “Make it brutal. You need to make me look like a chump, then go on a tirade about how much you hate cops. Make it loud and nasty.”

The day of the operation dawned with an air of impending doom. Franz, dressed in ragged clothes, skulked by the riverbank, his eyes peeled for Victor. He finally appeared, swaggering along with an air of unearned confidence. Franz zeroed in on his target—a hapless pedestrian, Raymond Windpipe. He pounced with the finesse of a tipsy tightrope walker, wrestling Raymond to the ground amidst a flurry of fists and curses. Gasps erupted from the crowd as Franz snatched the bag and bolted. Right on cue, Mooch stormed onto the scene, his voice a bullhorn of righteous fury. “Stop right there, you filthy scuzzer!”

The ensuing fight was a masterclass in orchestrated chaos. Mooch moved with the grace of a ballet dancer who’d taken one too many hits to the head, while Franz fought with the wild, frantic energy of a cornered madman. The crowd, including the likes of Graffen Gruntsqueeze, Bridget Kookold, Penelope Snizzsnapper, Gideon Rumspringa, Frødrik Frødrikson, and Mia Culpa, watched, transfixed, as the battle reached its climax. With a final, mighty shove, Franz sent Mooch sprawling into the river, the splash a satisfying punctuation mark. Victor, watching from the shadows, began a slow, mocking clap. His grin widened as he sauntered over to the furry rhino, who was panting and bruised but triumphant. “Well, well, well,” Victor grunted, as he…