Disclaimer: We do not own any of Code Geass/Black Lagoon characters, stories or anything else related to Code Geass or Black Lagoon, all of it belongs to their creators.

A/N: Hi everyone, finally have the first chapter of Roanapur Connection is here. For those who aren't Code Geass fans or have read my CG fics. Roanapur Connection is actually a prequel fic to my own soon to be rebooted Code Geass fic by good friend anneauxdelacroix , Code Geass Colored Memories and in general to Code Geass as well. Since the mid 90's period of it has never been covered in any fanfic, canon source in any real detail despite much happening in it according to the R2 novels and the rise and fall of certain people and powers. Mixed that with my own desire to explore Black Lagoon after watching it and falling in love with it. Along with a fair bit of backstory i came up with for Colored Memories relating to Kaguya Sumeragi and her parents that I also felt would make for a great fic in it's own right.

Viola we have Roanapur Connection.

That is mainly being written by my good friend Seth Slimy Rollins aka Waggleton. The writer of Persona 5 fic Persona: Unconscience and by myself in a few sections. We will update this fic wherever possible. But just to note this fic is being written by Seth whenever he gets spare time from his Persona fic that is his main project and me form when i ain't busy rebooting Colored Memories and RL commitments. Our current schedule is every other month to update with new chapter.

We hope you enjoy our work and how we explore both series at the same time.

Me and Seth thank you for reading our fic and for taking the time to click, review etc.

Blackmambauk and Seth Rollins.

Cover art by KiraLNG.

Chapter edited by JadeLei727

[Date: 04/04/1995 ATB, Time: 20:00, Sakai Town Center/Sumeragi Conglomerate Headquarters Office]

Of all the things Natsumi Sumeragi prized about herself, one of her most secretly treasured traits was her inability to dream. Every night she would sleep, and she would rise the next morning without any kind of shock or freakish recollections. She would hear her colleagues complain about night terrors or sad memories of things that could not be, whether from the quiet chatters amongst her employees or her own family, and she would quietly snicker, blessed to be free of any kind of wandering mind.

It wasn't always the case, sadly, but thankfully, Natsumi had expunged all memories of the frivolous machinations of her childish mind. No sad thoughts of her old classmates, crushes, loves, dreams that could be mixed with history.

There was only one nightmare that she could never escape — her, as a child standing on the shores of Sakai. Giant monsters, masses of hatred, storming and destroying the Daisen Kofun. The moon crimson and raging across the twinkling stars. She watched as ancestors upon ancestors became engulfed in flame, destroyed by an undefined war from an impossible future. Her country was turned into a cathedral of death worship. The memory was clear and horrifying, nestled in between lazy Sundays in the fields of Japan, and working calmly and studiously with the tutors her family could afford.

This memory is why Natsumi demanded her office in the Sumeragi Conglomerate Headquarters must be in a certain spot, overlooking the holy burial ground of Daisen Kofun. She stared at it in defiance every morning as she studied and planned, while eating whatever small meals she decided to eat on her own, or when admiring a prized possession — a small, yet ancient farming knife that was recovered during reconstruction work on the mound's tourist museum. She paid more than she probably should for it, stealing a piece of immense archeological importance in a bit of frivolous spending and slight pettiness towards herself.

Natsumi loomed from the window, wearing a casual dressing gown that, to the average observer or courtesan, appeared quite modest and unassuming — but, to those with the vision that Natsumi tried to cultivate around her, they would see the dress as being from one of Japan's top designers — a direct descendant of royal dressmakers, as it were.

She watched the knife softly tumble and roll, floating inside the glass case she had commissioned for it. The sunset on the mounds, making the water surrounding it turn into a violent orange hue.

Natsumi ignored the sound of a keycard being slid against a security lock as she admired the sunset, the slow rotations of the ancient knife inside the glass, the view of the glass spires among spires of Sakai.

"Ah! Natsumi, I didn't expect…"

She turned towards Haru's voice. "Shouldn't you be home by now?"

"I'm just checking on things…" he said, turning towards the tablet in his hands. "Just running analytics for everything."

"Have you taken the news into account?"

"The news? Oh…" Haru scrolled to the side of his tablet and groaned. "Juruo Fushita. Yes, I saw."

Fushita was the Prime Minister of Japan for all of a year. He was beloved by his constituents, charismatic, and was en route to end the so-called 'Kuso Period', or so it was called. However…

"Five PM's in five years…" Natsumi shook her head disdainfully, but the disdainful smile remained. "Do you ever wonder if we're nearing the end?"

"I wouldn't say it like that…" Haru rested against the wall, realizing that Natsumi most likely didn't have anyone to talk to all day. Or, at least, nobody close enough to share her thoughts with.

"Think about it, Haru. We've gone through five prime ministers in five years. It's almost unprecedented! What does this mean for us?"

"They weren't assassinated. I don't see why it's that big of a deal."

"Isn't it?" Natsumi looked back at her dagger, from centuries past. "Five PM's in five years. Not assassinated, not impeached… just resigned. Nobody wants to lead this country anymore. What does that mean?"

"I think we're doing pretty well, I suppose…" Haru examined the tablet once again. "Our finances and investors are still fairly solid, and none of the analytics have seen a future drop…"

"Have they taken the news this morning into account?"

"Not… yet…"

Natsumi nodded, and carefully picked up a small book on one of her shelves. It was some old English tome, one that she bought on an auction that she had yet to send to get translated. "The line of succession right now is a mess, isn't it? Suppose a newcomer were to come in…"

"Are you suggesting?"

"Why not?"

Haru looked out the window, staring at the skyline of Sakai. "Not that you're not apt for it, but… maybe the situation is a bit more intense than you know?"

"Tell me — in my position, at this company, what don't I know?"

"That's fair, I suppose, but business is still different than politics. Especially when half the world is in a cold war about to go hot."

"Relax, we're still in Fade Out. It's quite manageable, I'd say."

"Japan is still, well… it's right on the coast of China. If something were to happen, we'd be a target, wouldn't we?"

"It's a possibility, but they'd most likely want to go westward, wouldn't they?"

"We're still an important target, I'd say. What, with Sakuradite, one of the few countries with a high focus on refinement… it'd be tempting, I'm sure. Haven't the Sumeragi made any attempts to broker peace?"

Natsumi's face went sour. "It's been complicated, Haru. You know how tough it is to navigate centuries of family politics, I'm sure."

"Yes, I do, certainly."

She sighed as she thumbed through the book. It was in that strange, old English, unrecognizable to her, or even seasoned English speakers. She bought it without even inquiring what it meant, and it always vexed her.

"The Sumeragi will remain neutral to both countries. Whatever happens, we will survive."

"I hope you're right. But I can't help but think… excuse me, but perhaps we should perform something preemptive."

"We?"

"Err, Japan, I meant. What if we made some sort of move, like striking a port? It'd be a way to show that we shouldn't be invaded or bothered."

Natsumi lightly bonked Haru on the head with the book, spreading dust onto his black hair. "Because that's always worked so well in the past."

"Well, we do have…"

"No, no. Even if I were in charge, with you by my side, Japan wouldn't do anything. We may be involved, but our goal should be to keep our country and family safe, not to expand unto Asia or any other sort of… grand theatrics. We have Sakuradite — surely, that should be enough to dissuade invaders."

"It'd be tempting for China, though."

Natsumi laughed. "You're oddly raring to go, aren't you? Aren't you the same Haru that refused firearms training? I had to pull a lot of glout to get you back in… but, then again, you did pick it back up recently… are you planning something?"

"Not… planning…" Haru returned to his spot on the wall, hugging the tablet computer to his breast. "Call me pessimistic, but I think this thing between China and Britannia won't end well. If combat were to come onto Japan, I might enlist. I might even see if we can help protect the island before something like that happens."

"The Sumeragi Conglomerate is interested in protection and economics, not dirty bombs and guerilla warfare."

"Yes, Natsumi, I'm aware."

"You don't have to act like a scolded kid, y'know? Dreaming of valor is fine, yes, but living the life of a soldier isn't as fun as people make it out."

Haru remained silent.

"My grandfather fought in that first round of conflict. The country made him out to be a hero, and I'd have to say he was… but he was never really the same when he came back. You're a good friend of mine, Haru. I'd hate to see that happen to you. Surely, you don't hate China, right?"

"I'm afraid of it at this moment, but I don't hate anyone."

Natsumi walked closer to him, pulling out her own PDA. "Well, I've been meaning to tell you, but I'm afraid it won't pan out."

"What's that?"

"Oboro has been helping me for a good month or so, trying to find a way to get China to keep the Sumeragi safe. Considering our, well, glout among these parts, it should manage to evolve to keeping the whole of Japan out of the war…" she smirked at Haru. "Far from the glory of combat, but it'd save more lives in the long run, right?"

"That's great news."

"But, don't spread it around. It might not come to fruition — not that it matters much. But I don't want our employees to hear about this and think everything will be fine."

"Why not?"

"The world is a chaotic place, Haru," she softly affirmed, sending the details of the plan to Haru's own device. "We can't expect everything to happen in the best way, or the worst."

[Date: 04/04/1995 ATB, Time: 23:00, Shinozaki Dojo, Odawara Kanagawa]

Oboro laid on her husband's chest on the hard floor of their home. The day had been spent training, repairing, sparring — all-in-all, completely exhausting, and in the evening all one could do was lay down and rest on the hardwood floor.

Despite the nature of their marriage — an arranged affair between one Kyoto House family and the closest Subordinate Clan sworned to Clan Kirihara, the Shinozaki, Oboro and Saburo had nothing but love for each other. Or, at least, Oboro thought so. Saburo had a habit of being… gruff. He sometimes felt like a brick wall, which makes sense, since he was built like one. Thankfully, his muscle and heavy-set body was very comfortable for Oboro to lay her head on after long days and long nights.

Speaking of nights, he was snoring. How romantic.

Oboro hoisted herself up from his belly, looking at her husband. He was gently sleeping, though his snores still rung around their still-being-built living room. She huffed.

"Oh, darling Saburo…" she gently hummed. "My sweet, darling Saburo… must be dreaming of stock prices and inheritance…"

Oboro went to stroke his face, but her hand was quickly swiped away.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were sleeping…"

"I was."

Saburo sat up and leaned against the wall, and Oboro took her place again, laying her head on his lap.

"Did you have a good day so far?"

Silence.

Oboro's smile faded. "C'mon, you're not still worried about it, are you?"

"I have to be."

Oboro had to force herself to lay off — she really did know what was worrying him, the issue was finding a way for him to forget it.

"C'mon, not everything has to be about politics, right?"

Saburo shook his head. "Everything is politics nowadays. The news, the press, the people on the street…"

"Well, of course the news is going to talk about news, right?"

"I saw an ad last evening for joining the Navy against China on television."

Oboro looked up at the ceiling. She knew what he was talking about — teenagers waving a Japanese flag on a battleship as it flew towards a great red cloud across the coast. It didn't say what they were fighting, but she knew the implication.

"Nationalism is at a high. Nationalism, not patriotism. It's staggering."

Oboro tried to remain silent. She saw the studies, of course — Saburo always shared them to her first, but it was still hard to believe. Japan was preparing for a war, even if nobody wanted to be a part of it in the first place. Even so, they were building and rallying. As Fushita said before he had resigned, 'China wants a war, and they shall receive one tenfold.'

And, of course, both of them knew it was inevitable. They'd probably have a hand in causing it.

"Do you think any of these kids know what it's even about?"

"I doubt it." Saburo shook his head. "I think they just believe it's about Chinese culture, or some kind of declaration, something like that. I think the story behind it would just bore them. Having an enemy is exciting."

Oboro looked up at her husband again. "You're going to be fine, right?"

"Every time I see one of our new students, I can't help but think… what if there's a draft? What's the fatality rate going to be like? We can't prevent it."

"I think what we have planned might keep things calm, right?"

"We can make a shelter for Japan," Saburo nodded. "But everything else outside is going to be devastated by that storm."

[Date: 05/04/1995 ATB, Time: 3:00pm, Newcastle City Centre, England]

"Nathan, Nathan, you certainly know how to set up shop!"

Nathan chuckled as the large Indian man pulled open a window. The two were occupying an 'abandoned' office space. It had been renovated under-the-radar by other members of their organization, and the two had been moving in cargo as fast as they could.

"What time is it?"

Ganabati checked his PDA before rushing to the other window. Beneath them was St. James Park, and he could see the entirety of Newcastle from their office. He retrieved a pair of military-grade binoculars that had been extensively modified, covered in stickers from Mumbai F.C., and tampered a bit with the internet connection before turning them on.

"Ah-ha! Hope the wankers spent some good money on those box seats, the cocksuckers. Especially with how they stripped this fine city of everything that made them their ill-gotten things. Oh look, I can see the local filth head next to Greengrass. He certainly benefited from knocking a few heads in his time… especially northern heads!"

Bare knuckles wrapped in fine leather gloves clenched themselves tightly.

In a bit of a coincidence, Newcastle and Delhi were playing today in a friendly between the Spring breaks the English football league had going on, a coincidence Ganabati was glad to arrange if nothing else. Both Nathan and Ganabati had money riding on the game, along with probably half of Golden Company. All-in-all, it was shaping up to be an interesting day.

Nathan took out his own pair of binoculars and watched as the referee blew his whistle and flipped a pound coin. Delhi called tails, and it landed tails. Ganabati cheered and elbowed his partner.

"If I were smarter, I'd have assumed you'd rig that."

"No, no, nothing to ruin the spirit of the game," Ganabati smirked. "Maybe rig the field with explosives on England's side, but not that."

"Well, isn't that a bit extreme to do such a thing to my beloved football club and city, eh?"

"Shouldn't you be getting to work? Maybe play with my gift a bit, hm?"

Nathan rolled his eyes and went to a nearby miniature mainframe, situated on a table with a few different documents, flash drive cartridges, and PDAs. He pressed his hand onto the screen, waiting for it to recognize his fingerprints, and inserted one of the cartridges, marked with masking tape and Hindi. The screen flashed with a map of Newcastle, of its current state, which was lacking in more ways than one with rusty steel, sullen brick work and depressing people lining the streets, a true shell of its former self in Ganabati's eyes. As was the case of all the northern cities he had witnessed over the years.

Yet Nathan seemed so fond of it despite never being there often, it's often the only time he saw Nathan relax himself when he was with another person, whether it be watching his football team, or with the way he gets involved with local efforts and the way he talks with local workers, businesses or disability groups.

Ganabati turned a slight glance to the rest of the room they were in. Casting his eyes on the many boards of building structure outlines for parts of Newcastle, An outline for business propositions. The table of council documents, application for grants. Books containing Acts in the UK and video equipment and film cameras.

It was clear that there was passion and vision.

One Ganabati was interested to see if Nathan could achieve what he wanted to achieve. He had come far since the years he had first uncovered him. Long before he started wearing tailored fancy suits and sunglasses. Whether it's in the deserts of Africa, Wastelands of Eastern Europe or Mountains of India invested with crows. He was always suit and tie wherever they go. Pride was the feeling Ganabati felt towards the lad. For he had been a most worthy investment professionally, and personally for one who also knew what it was like to be in the rabbit hole as Nathan called it.

Then the greater London Area as the map moved further south, along with several different case files for every Golden Company operative in London. To which Nathan rarely if ever showed his face to the bosses there. He always seems to sour when they go south, as if it was diseased, or still suffering from the smog days Ganabati remembered seeing when he first saw London back in the 60's. It was worse than the dust Mumbai got in his old neighbourhood.

"I hope everyone is here, yeah?" Ganabati said, watching as the mainframe sent the same map to his binoculars. "Hope they all got the memo, don't want to just be the two of us heading in there."

Nathan eyed him. "You don't think we could?"

"No, of course we could. Just have to have a few Tanks, maybe. More guns than one of those big fuck-off helicopters, right?"

"Not sure that's in the budget."

"Half of this office isn't in the budget," Ganabati reminded him. "Gotta keep it off the books, eh? You English always had a knack for that."

Nathan nodded, but his concentration was broken by his associate cheering. "Who's scored, Newcastle or Delhi?"

"Delhi! Woo!"

"Bugger."

Ganabati saw Nathan picked up another cartridge, this time labeled 'OHOAG' in ink and cursive, and plugged it in. The entire plan for Golden Company's expansion into Asia was loaded on it, complete with suggestions for personnel to bring, routes, possible flights and strategic information, and the contact documentation for four wildcards in Japan.

"Japan, Japan…" Ganabati scowled. "What a shitshow, huh? You hear about the news?"

"Five PM's in five years… to be expected considering whom really holds power over there."

"Eh, I bet at this time, having a permanent king don't sound so bad."

"Japan does not have kings or emperors, remember. They flogged monarchy systems after they lost the Great War. Corporations and lineages is what they have had since."

"Specifics, specifics…" The Indian waved his hand dismissively, it was nothing compared to what he and his people had and have gone through.

"Agh! Dammit. You Newcastle… red card, of course. Of course!"

"Was it eck, Elliott tackled him fair and square! Besides, Japan has independance.

Having a governmental cock-up every few years, hardly compares to what we have had to endure since our abandonment by those fucking…"

"You don't need to remind me." Ganabati tried to pay closer attention to the game, he did not need to hear Nathan's angst about it again for the millionth time, even closing the windows from the mainframe on his sightseer. Independance was still a strong word to him. He remembered seeing the Tanks and support units roll into Delhi's squares, the battle of Red Fort, and a bunch of invading pricks defacing the Taj Mahal with the Britannian flag through projection. He saw the invasion from the slums, the tyranny from the palaces of nobles. He was born into Britannian India, and he would see the flag rise once again if it would take him until his death.

As far as he was concerned, the Golden Company's interference would throw the first wrench into the giant Britannian war engine.

"So, we wait until the game ends, then we head to the airstrip and depart down to merry old London to meet with the bosses."

"And, my friend, it looks like you'll be buying the drinks."

"We can wait until we get to the rendezvous."

Ganabati feigned being disgusted. "Trust me, English beer tastes like piss, but I'd have that before I have whatever passes for alcohol in Thailand."

"I don't see you complain about the piss whenever we are at the Strawberry. Alex and Michael made sure of that. Though they never got me drinking, could never stand alcohol in any form."

"Anyways, you don't want to take in the local flavor, eh?"

"Maybe, once the checks from our friend clears. Then I can retire on the beach in Thailand, Bangkok, Macau, wherever. I'll drink all the shit liquor I want."

"Well, let's keep our eyes on the prize."

"I am. And you're the prize, as it's turning out! Ha!"

Nathan retired to his chair and pulled up his 'gift' from Ganabati — a long cobra, speckled in white and brown, Ganabati could see the smile creep among the scars that embodied Nathan's lips and cheeks. His name was Lucius — a fitting name for a snake, as far as Nathan knew. Thankfully, it was defanged — at least, that's what Ganabati told him (it was the bare minimum demanded by the zoologist at the university he had to get permits and training from from to buy Lucius), allowing it to wrap itself around Nathan's shoulders. Ganabati imagined it's smooth skin would suit Nathan's perchance for stroking certain textures that he says stims him.

"Heh, you are way too trusting, my friend."

"Why wouldn't I be, friend?"

Ganabati chuckled and returned to the game, pulling Newcastle Brown ale from a cabinet and cracking it open on the side of the window. "Ah ha, Newcastle just keeps getting worse and worse…"

"You underestimate us, once our lads truly get going. You never forget the sight of Alan, David, Rob and Les smashing you to pieces. Just ask the mackems down the road on that."

"No need, friend."

Ganabati noticed Nathan was thinking against watching the game on his PDA, but he guessed that keeping an eye on his reactions throughout the afternoon was proving be much more informative, always wanting to study what was around him and grasp others, that was Nathan. The plane and group wouldn't come for a while, and Ganabati had insisted on getting to the office right as the game started — 3pm.

Without much to do, Nathan picked a leather-bound notebook, labelled 'I' on it in stitches, from his personal briefcase. He waited for Lucius to calm down, pried open the withered diary, and began to read while spinning a worn cane in his left hand. The contents not even Ganabati knew, to which his friend kept, like a lot of feelings and persona apart from Ganabati… to himself. Maybe this trip to Japan might change that, along with the fate of his country and allow both to expand their horizons even further.