The Zombies milled about in what used to be the City of Ottawa, Ontario. From Bank Street to Rideau, from Vanier to Gloucester, from Kanata to Stitsville, the Undead were everywhere. Once upon a time, a million friendly, cheerfully, polite and passive-aggressive Canadians called Ottawa home. Now, it's Zombie central. When the Zombie outbreak started in Detroit, Michigan, it soon crossed over to the Canadian side even though Canadian border services blew up the bridge connecting Windsor, Ontario, to Detroit. The Undead don't respect borders, all they crave is human flesh. Driven by that hunger, they invaded Canada.
After consuming much of America and Canada, the Zombies soon crossed over into Mexico. The only thing which prevented the rest of the world from being consumed by Zombies was drastic action taken by Russia, China and North Korea. How about that? The dictatorial states combined their military might to drop nukes on America, Canada and Mexico, thus curtailing the Zombie outbreak. The continent of North America has been written off as Zombie central. There were small outbreaks in Latin America and the Caribbean but those were contained.
The Alliance of Defenders, spearheaded by Russia, and which includes China, Nigeria, Ethiopia, North Korea, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, Brazil, Australia, New Zealand, Turkey, Iran and the United Republic of New Britain, now controls the world's resources. The Zombie plague didn't just wipe out most human life in North America. It also turned geopolitics on its head. With America and Canada gone, the world moved on. What hope does freedom have in this current state of affairs? Humanity gladly sacrificed freedom for safety when the ravenous dead began walking the earth.
What am I doing in Ottawa? What does any of that have to do with me? Hmm, long story. Let's start with some basics, shall we? The name is Ramon Salvador, and I was born in the City of Oaxaca, Mexico, to a Mexican father, Estevez Salvador, and a Nigerian mother, Jamila Adewale. I was eighteen years old when the reanimated dead began devouring the living. My relatives and I got separated during the chaos that followed. I survived, and eventually made my way to Africa. I arrived in my mother's ancestral homeland of Kano, Nigeria. I've been living there ever since.
Life isn't so bad in Kano. I adjusted fairly well to life in Nigeria and mastered several local languages including Igbo and Hausa. I also gained Nigerian citizenship. I work for the Nigerian Police Force and it's a decent gig. My direct supervisor, Captain Omar Boulaye, is a decent man. I've learned a lot from the man ever since I started working for the Nigerian Police Force. I've adjusted fairly well to my new life in Nigeria, which is about as different from Mexico as one can get. There is one snag, though. I am not exactly one hundred percent human. No, I am not a Zombie. I am something else entirely.
If you were to look at me, you'd see a six-foot-one, broad-shouldered and brown-skinned, curly-haired man. I am half Latino and half African, and my features reflect it. You might notice that I have a bunch of tiny spots all over my skin, and think it's some kind of birthmark. You've got no idea how right you are. I am different, and it's a genetic thing. Not much I can do about it. I was born this way. What am I talking about? Let's get down to it...
Folks, have you ever heard the term Bultungin? Hmm, probably not. In the myths and folklore of many West African and Middle Eastern cultures, a Bultungin is a mythological creature that's a cross between a Hyena and a man. Unlike the werewolves of European and North American folklore, a Bultungin, also known as a Were-Hyena, isn't a person who transforms into a supernatural beast. Nope. The Bultungin is an inhuman monster that goes about disguised as a person. Big difference there, folks. Werewolves are transformed humans. Bultungin were never human to begin with.
The Hyena-People, also known as the Bultungin have been living in Africa and the Middle East since the ancestors of man were hairy little things that clung to trees. Mother nature made them ride the fence between animal and man. There is nothing supernatural about the breed. I am living proof of that and damned proud of it. We are a species just like elephants, tigers, lions, parrots and crabs are different species. There are many of us living in Africa and the Middle East, hence our influence in local folklore and legends. There's always a bit of truth behind every myth, folks...
I am half Were-Hyena because my mother Jamila Adewale was one of them. I was leading as regular a life as I could in Kano, Nigeria, until the shit hit the fan. Just like that, I found myself thrust out of my mundane existence and into unwanted adventure and peril. An envoy from the League of Defenders came to town, and demanded to speak to me. I was quite shocked but played it cool. Perhaps they had the wrong man, you know? Post-apocalyptic dictatorships still got bloated bureaucracies to contend with, after all...
"The High Council wishes to speak to you," said Captain Omar Boulaye. I looked at the tall, dark-skinned and taciturn Nigerian policeman and frowned. The Captain looked worried and this in turn worried me. Two officers I was quite familiar with, Corporal James Adewale and patrolman Lucian Ajoku, escorted me out of the barracks and into the Command Center. I expected to be brought forth before the Nigerian Police luminaries, but instead found myself facing two white men whom I had never seen before.
"Thank you officers," said the white man, a tall blond-haired fellow in a suit, and Ajoku and Adewale filed out. I looked at the foreigner, and frowned. I detected a Russian accent, which wasn't surprising. The Russian military and their intelligence services are everywhere nowadays, filling the void left by America and Canada. I sniffed the air, and from the man's scent, I realized he'd spent quite a bit of time on an airplane. The man didn't seem fatigued, though. Jetlag seldom bothers those who fly for a living, or so they would have us believe.
