Thomas was reloading his gun, sliding pulling out shells from his pack and slowly sliding each one into a chamber, cycling through them all. He looked around every so often, always ready for something. This mess at Beacon is what he prepared for, but he wasn't sure if the same was true of his team. They were good in a fight, sure, but they were also good outside of a fight. Either they found easier to transition between battle and everyday life, or they treated both with a carefree sincerity. Whatever they did, Thomas respected them for it even though he didn't want to emulate them. Especially Lloyd, Thomas hated Lloyd's upper-class snobbery and comfortable lifestyle. 

He answered Felicia. "I don't expect, I prepare. That Nevermore will come regardless of what you expect." He took a moment to look down the sights of his gun, pointing at the bulkhead, away from anyone. The sights were still calibrated correctly. Thomas talked again, feeling vindicated by recent events. 

"Well, I think people got a glimpse of reality today. Not the horseshit that commanders like Ironwood are spoutin'. He sure doesn’t give a damn about the blood and guts the grunts are spilling, maybe he was playing dressup with his little toy instead of looking at the casualty reports. People like that are the same sorts who give us grief for how Beacon's fighting, but they don't know how it is in the real world. Killing Grimm is what matters, and they ain’t got honor or mercy or nothing but jaws hungry for your blood. I don’t give a damn about all that agenda that lady on the speakers is pushing, but at least she’s got the balls to tell you something without sugarcoating it." Thomas was talking without caring if anyone listened. It was just his way of expressing himself.