It's been a week since your remarkably distressing chance encounter with Mezz, a short rabbit with disheveled grey fur and the most piercing green eyes in the world. You found him badly beaten and apparently violated at the end of an obscure alley you had just happened to be passing on your way home. He didn't let you do much except help him get back to his feet despite the battered state he was in. He ran off in a hurry after that, but not before a strange moment where he simply stared blankly into your eyes, which you hoped wasn't some kind of seizure or something. In his understandable rush to get out of there, Mezz left behind a fancy staff, clearly custom made for him out of very nice wood. You decided to keep it, in case you happened to run into him again on better terms, it seems like something he'd hate to lose.
Mezz's name and description were luckily enough to find more information about him. He's reputed as a sort of vigilante who's been trying to take down or at the very least inconvenience the syndicate of boar ethno-nationalist criminals who seem to have carved out a major blind spot for themselves in the vision of local law enforcement. You yourself happen to be one of the lucky ones, as they don't target humans often, doing that would draw too much attention, but there's rarely a night that goes by in this city that you don't hear some indication of kidnappings, murders, large scale robberies or all manner of other crimes happening out your window. You would understand and respect the decision thoroughly if the state you had found him in had given him cause to give up the fight, but it would be a shame if the last bit of pressure against the Syndicate disappeared.

There's a knock at your door that you weren't expecting. You look through the peephole, There's a guy who's clearly trying very hard to conceal his identity, it's even hard to tell whether he's a human or an anthro, he's a little short to be a human for sure, but it's possible. He's wearing a hoodie, large dark sunglasses, a surgical mask, thick gloves and bulky long pants. In June. He's shuffling around impatiently. You open the door slightly, bracing it and yourself in such a way that he can't just charge in. You ask him what he's doing here.

Look, I know this looks shady as hell, but I promise there's a really good reason for it, I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm not gonna try to take anything of yours.
In fact, I'm pretty sure you have something of mine.

Oh, it's Mezz. It's probably not a coincidence. Even without the Schizoaffective-core wardrobe, you weren't planning on this being the way you ran into him again.