“Weak isn’t a concern. Any parahuman has their strengths and those strengths can be nurtured, made to bloom. My concern is having a team where every member can stand in close proximity and be natural among one another.”

“We’re the two kids who’re picking our teams for gym class and you’re taking the girl who lost a fight against, essentially, an unpowered person with an improvised weapon, not even a good improvised weapon, because you want the team that looks good if they’re asked to take a picture together?”

“Yes!” Marquis said. “Not that I care about pictures. Personality, style, expectations. If I have a wide pool of people to choose from, I’ll pick people who can be in the same room without looking critically at the person next to them and wondering why they’re there. People who, if I’m offering them something to drink, won’t put in twenty different orders for tea, beer, wine, soda pop, or whatever else. People I give an order to, who won’t immediately start fighting over how to carry it out. From my perspective you’re playing the losing game.”

“You’re deluded,” Chris growled. “Drink preferences don’t have anything to do with how they’re going to kill the guy you’re pointing at.”

“Of course not, but I have a wide pool to choose from. I’ve been paying attention and earmarking the ones I like for a little while now. I’ll pick a core team where I believe they’ll be in alignment, then pick the ones I think could be swept up into that alignment, and then pick the ones who won’t cause too much fuss, in that order.”

“Assuming you get that many picks.”

“Assuming I do,” Marquis said, smiling. “I still want Gosling.”

“You can have her. Free pick, as I see it. Johnny.”

“Which one?”

“There’s two?”

“One goes by Johnny in his civilian identity, and then you have Johnny Shambles, who is, I believe, in quarantine.”

“The second one.”

“As I see it, you’re playing the losing game, Lab Rat. You did this in the Birdcage. You picked people because they and their powers were resources. You forgot they were people, too. Who’s your next pick? Go ahead.”

“Adze.”

“Exactly the opposite approach to my own. If I had to pick the three people least likely to find a mutual rhythm, I wouldn’t pick Shambles, Adze, and you, but it would be close.”

“I don’t care, because I’m not looking for rhythm. I’m looking for people I can send to go do something, with expectations they manage. Who’s your pick?”

“Screwdriver,” Marquis replied.

“I like her,” Hunter chimed in. She turned on the spot, walking backward, hands going to her face. “No mask. Not really.”

Chris fell silent, and it was a judgmental silence.