The Keiko Conspiracy (non-futa)

Story by Hardcover

Here we go, I finally got to the third chapter of The Keiko Conspiracy, and its another monster thirty five pager. I felt a little re inspired on this one after watching repeats of The Prisoner and the better parts of AMC's insipid remake. At any rate, this chapter gives a little bit of insight into who runs things in Moriyama. The first two chapters of this series were pretty popular, but I'm not expecting this one to be since it didn't come as smoothly as the others. The second sex scene wasn't originally planned, it just sort of happened as I was writing, she was there, he was there . . . well you get the idea.

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THE KEIKO

CONSPIRACY:

FILE 003

By Hardcover

It was late afternoon, the sun was shining, people moved here and there coming and going with their business. People stopped to patron shops, buy food to fill their bellies or simply chatted about the day’s events. Couples chatted playfully, families dined together and laughed; friends hung out and exchanged stories all down the usual stretch of road, the main district in town where everyone sooner or later spent some time. Everyone was doing something; everyone was engaged in some kind of activity.

And I was following a dead man.

I slipped easily between the throngs of people, keeping an eye on my target up ahead, and making sure to be as natural and unassuming as possible; making sure that he didn’t suspect he was being followed. I had a slight advantage now in that respect, as not too many people would think to suspect a pretty eighteen year old girl in a school uniform. Of course, they had no idea that I was really Tako Mitzuhara, an experienced intelligence operative, some how and inexplicably transformed into Keiko Yamato, school girl. Yet, that was the case, and I was having to learn how to live in the body of a teenage girl.

It wasn’t easy, I had just developed my first school girl crush on my classmate Makoto, and I was still getting used to the idea. But it was impossible to deny how I felt about him. We’d just exchanged phone numbers and the simple act of doing that had made my heart do a complete pitter patter. I had it bad for him, that was the short and long of it. Damn this eighteen year old body and its silly school girl emotions.

A shook my head and tried to focus on what I was doing: Following a man who was supposed to be dead; a man who used to be my old friend Bruce Anderson.

The Path Of The Dead Guy

Bruce Anderson had been a top notch operative for the American CIA, a fact that usually confounded people when confronted by his laid back, easy going manner. But that was pretty much deliberate; Bruce was one of the best there was. I had worked with him several times during international operations, and we became fast friends. Bruce was a man in his late thirties, with brushed back black hair that was streaked with a little grey and a large pointed chin that was unmistakable. I had known Bruce for many years, and had been his friend for most of them.

All that had ended when terrorists flew a plane into the pentagon on September 11th 2001, killing many including Bruce.

So how the hell could he be here? However it was, I needed to find out. I skipped down the street, looking playful and nonchalant while I kept my eyes on Bruce. I was positively surreal, so see someone whose funeral I had attended strolling down the street like that. He stopped to look at a few things as he went, and I followed, hot on his trail.

He stopped for a second at a huge billboard reading “Re elect Mayor Shiro” with a huge picture of the Mayor of Moriyama on it, grinning his usual shit eating politician grin. He shook his head and moved on.

At one point, he stopped for a bite to eat at a small café. I slipped into one adjacent from him and kept my eye on him. It was the same old Bruce, looking around and noticing everything. He was dressed casual, at least casual if you lived in Florida (which Bruce, incidentally, did not. He lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin), in a loose fitting Hawaiian shirt and blue jean shorts. I kept my cool and hoped he wouldn’t recognize me from the park. Even if he did, I wasn’t sure if he’d find Keiko suspicious or not, but spies are trained to regard everyone as distrustful, so I kept my distance as he moved, keeping a few people between myself and him.

There was certain advantage to the fact that he couldn’t possibly recognize me like this at all. There was nothing of Mizuhara Tako left in

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