Halo: The Scoundrel's Bazaar/Prologue

UNSC COLONY “CROSSROADS”
OUTSKIRTS OF CAPITAL CITY “MASIPAG”
NOVEMBER 1, 2630, 1155 LOCAL TIME
Sergeant Corey Thomas stood defiantly at the entrance to the small, dimly lighted warehouse with rifle in hand.
The rifle was the infamous BL5 Individual Combat Weapon System or ICWS for short. There was not a rifle in the whole of the UNSC armory that was more suited for the occasion, Thomas thought. Its short length, bull-pup configuration, and weak kickback made it ideal for breaching situations.
Just like the one Corey was about to get himself into.
“Just like old times. Let’s get this show on the road,” Corey and the other troopers heard through the headsets built into their respective helmets. A number of these were orbital-drop shock troopers: strong, nasty, and intelligent warriors. The others held backgrounds with units such as the infamous Marine Rapid Infiltration and 
Sergeant Thomas pulled his rifle up to line of sight as he pulled the charging handle. An ODST ahead of him gave a hand signal to the seven men and one woman behind him as he lifted his bulky boot into the air and let it come crashing down on the door leading into the warehouse. They rushed in silently and swiftly, keeping an eye out for movement of any sort.
“I got a response over here! We’ve located Tango!” a female soldier called out from thirty or so feet from the bashed door via headset.
“Over here, too! This place is loaded!” Corey said into the comm channel. He used the butt of his rifle to pry a crate open. Inside he located what Tango represented. Hundreds of illegally obtained high-caliber, military grade firearms that the United Nations Space Command’s Office of Naval Intelligence had been tracking for weeks.
Before the sergeant could step inside, however, he was alerted by a clanking of metal off the top of the crate.
A grenade.
Sergeant Thomas alerted the others with a yelling voice rather than his headset as he rolled laterally to the side of the crate as the as the old grenade bounced from the nearby wall and to the opposite side of the crate before it went off with a ear-deafening bang.
Thomas scoped into his rifle’s red-dot reticule as he rose to one knee, scanning the overlooking inner balconies of the second floor.
“I see one!” Gunnery Sergeant Caston yelled as he let out a burst from his suppressed NH40 rifle, a slightly older model albeit just as durable as any modern make.
With that burst, an overweight man with a sandy complexion let out a muffled yelp from behind a mask as he fell to the metal floor below. 
Corey quickly took note of where he had fallen from and pinpointed three other insurgents. He fired a volley of semi-automatic fire and one man dropped dead where he stood, blood flowing from his head and through the grating of the balcony's floor. Another trooper took out another man and Caston the last two of the rebels.
"Can't stand these Innie-sympathizing fucks," the Gunnery Sergeant spat in his usual bellowing voice.
"Amen, sir." Thomas was relieved the short firefight was over. Although, he felt like he could afford a bit more of a challenge.
Caston began walking towards the door. "Scoundrel Team, mount up. We're going back to the compound."
Corey shouldered his assault rifle and removed his helmet and clipped it to his waist as he took in a breath of fresh air. Scoundrel team was gonna be a wild ride, he thought to himself as he took a refreshing gulp of water from a canteen.