Charlie Foxtrot

Two northern white rhinos left on this Earth. Charlie's one of them. A grunt doesn't pick his battles or his odds.

Call him a fat unicorn, go on. He's heard worse from better. A grunt doesn't dwell; he digs in. Keeps his head down, night vision sharp, horn aimed at the abyss. That's not fear in his eye. That's the thousand-yard stare of a species on its last mile.
The poachers have come and gone, they made their profits. It's down to the millionaires paying a hundred grand to pull a trigger and call it sport. He'll put Charlie's head on a mahogany wall and boast how he ended a species.
Charlie will raise objections.