Jean-Baptiste didn't give a fuck if the walls were breached. He didn't give a fuck if people died, truth be told, and so he just casually strolled down to the mech bay, savoring the feeling of the suit on his body, building up the anticipation for combat. He didn't really care about the details, either, he'd just shoot whatever looked hostile and get his kicks. Unlike so many of his...comrades, he wasn't working under Creed because of some silly notion of mankind's greater good or some "noble" reason why he should fight the invaders, he was in it for the money and the thrills. And what a thrill it was to feel himself locking into place, becoming the massive mechanical titan he had christened the Orlando Furioso. Also unlike his comrades, he was already intimately familiar with his machine and its workings, which were smooth and unobtrusive. He was there to kill things, not act as an IT guy in the middle of battle, and so most of the Orlando's systems were entirely automated and hidden from view unless absolutely necessary. "Get in my way and get killed" were his only words, automatically broadcast to his comm channel.