The meat grinder had been an accident. Anyone could have made the mistake that led to Olive needing a replacement hand. But apparently, they had gotten into too many of these accidents, and the ranch was giving them their one-week warning.
They were told while Dr. Arphaxad made some small repairs to their new hand. They stared at their boss, ex-boss, as he fiddled with the pens in his pocket.
"I'm sorry, Olive. You've been such a big help on the property, but you're a danger to yourself. I had you in the kitchens to stop your accidents, not increase them."
"But I need-" they tried to protest. Andrés held up his hand to stop them.
"You paid off your debt. Long ago. Go home, I'm sure your parents will be happy to see you, pequeño."
They sighed and looked to the Doctor for help, but they were suddenly very fixated on Olive's hand.
"Ok."
A week later, and they got a message in the mail. They weren't a very popular person, so it came as a surprise. What it said was even more so.
"Olive Sinclair,
Though you have not submitted an application, or so much as looked our way for employment, we here at Overwatch would be pleased to have you on our staff team.
It's takes a special kind of nondescript person to work behind the scenes, preferably one who has worked positively with Omnics and humans of all kinds. We have selected you, for your past performances with both, as well as your spectacular work in the kitchens of your previous employer. Our kitchens at the Watchpoint: Gibraltar have been devastatingly empty, and a top chef should be highly appreciated.
Should you take this job, you must sign a treaty of secrecy, and move to the base. Quarters will be provided. Agents are not always present at base, and cooking for everyone will not be often, however having meal plans fit for fifty will be preferred, as many of our agents have increased metabolisms.
If you do not want this opportunity, burn this letter. If you do, contact me at XXX-XXXX.
-Winston, Agent at Overwatch."
Their hands shook as they read the letter again, but they weren't sure if it was due to their new, occasionally accident-prone hand, or nerves. But it was this shaking that freed the extra bit of parchment in the envelope still clutched in their hand. They gently picked it up and unfolded what appeared to be a receipt with forty dollars worth of peanut butter and bananas charged on it. The back had a note written on it.
"P.S: should you agree, unless you are making me a snack, leave all bananas and peanut butter in the fridge alone."
They couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up out of them at the absurdity.
They knew of overwatch. They knew they fought the Omnics, which just seemed ridiculous to them, both at the time and now. All Omnics they had ever met were pleasant, and they lived through some of the worst years of the war.
Although, lived is quite a strong word.
In their mid teen years, Olive was diagnosed with cancer and hospitalized until they were twenty four. Neither they or their parents could pay the hospital fee, so the owner of the hospital enlisted Olive to work at his ranch, as he had done for so many of his other patients. Most left after their payment was done, but Olive had continued to work out there for nearly twenty years. At this point, he owed them money. But they wouldn't take it, they hadn't continued to work for money, but for the enjoyment of it. Even if it did leave them with a half-metal torso and a robotic leg and hand.
The Omnics in their area were not war machines. They were built for farm work. What few butler-ish Omnics they saw in their life were owned by rich families who really had no use being in the slums and street markets that made up Olive's home.
People were a bit weirded out by the Omnics when they first came about, but they grew to appreciate them, and the market place that was once bustling with only people became a social gathering between the species.
When the omnic crisis hit, the Omnics vanished for several weeks. The markets were quiet beyond the mumbled trading between humans. Less people went to talk with the vendors, and the business lessened each day.
The first omnic to walk into the place in weeks had red eyes and guns drawn.
The first human to take note, was an old blind woman who had worked with the omnic before. They had often traded together, becoming an unbreakable force to be bartered with. She, too stubborn to let anyone swindle her; and the omnic, one made for harvesting ground vegetables like potatoes and carrots, had a keen eye that wouldn't let any faulty material pass her by in a trade.
The old blind woman could not see the red in her eyes or the guns that replaced her usual equipment, but she recognized the sound of her voice.
She hadn't hesitated to throw her arms around the omnic when she realized who was in front of her.
Vendors took notice as the robot beeped sporadically, unsure of the turn of events, but instead of running in fear, as she had become accustomed to, cheers were sent up around the market and more people came forth to hug and thank her for returning.
Whoever programmed the virus sweeping through Omnics all across the globe failed to consider how it would react to pure adoration. Before, people would act out in fear or hate, but ever since the crisis, not one person had responded with love, and now one omnic was receiving the brunt of this reaction. She didn't know how to react, and the red in her eyes slowly seeped out, leaving behind a light grey glow as she laughed and finally hugged her old blind woman back.
As the crisis continued everywhere else, the market and slums of Olive's neighborhood returned to it's hubbub of human/omnic cohabitation. The rouge Omnics that passed through were met with the same love as the first, from the traders who had reveled in their company. Within the borders of the neighborhood, the Omnics were just as they always had been.
Outside, was a different story.
They were still programmed with what every other omnic had in the world. The only exception to the ones prowling about in this corner of Mexico, was that not everyone was their target.
With each day came the assassinations of more of the officials who lead to the poverty of so many people. With each day, a few Omnics would stroll back into the markets and buy far more food and supplies than they needed, with money that wasn't really theirs, and disperse the goods to those in the slums too poor for even the cheapest materials.
Olive was too young to fully understand at the time, and they were too sick to mourn by the time the majority of Omnics were shut down. But the memory of the Omnics who brought them treats when they were young was something sweet they could look back on while going through the roughest years of chemo.
They would always see Omnics as equals, if not something higher. They were, after all, the reason they had a hand, a leg, hearing, and a life today.
Gibraltar was a strange place, Olive thought, as the limo that dropped them off in front sped away. They stared up at the tall building before them as they slowly walked to the doors. After sitting on a plane for five hours, and then the car ride to the base, their leg had gone funny and it was difficult to move it. They dragged themselves through the door and came face to face with a very large gorilla. They stared, since no words came to them.
"Hello! You're Olive Sinclair, correct? I'm Winston."
They blinked, trying to process this onslaught of information, then smiled and held out their hand.
"Yeah, that's me. And you're the one with an affinity for bananas and peanut butter?"
He laughed and nodded before turning away.
"Come on, I'll show you to your room and then the kitchens. The others aren't here right now, they're on their own missions. But you will meet them all over time."
Olive nearly screamed at the sight of their new kitchen.
Way up on the eighth floor, and connected to a large cafeteria, was the kitchen that would make up their new workplace. Decked in stainless steel and white marble countertops, and all the latest in cooking ware. There was a stove with ten burners. Ten.
"Oh, Winston..." they sighed at the sight, but the gorilla seemed to take it the wrong way.
"What? Is something wrong? I can have it remodeled... again..."
They could barely respond beyond giving him a tight hug and shaking their head.
"It's beautiful, I didn't even know steel could shine like this! L-look at that mixer, it's as big as my belly!" They finally laughed, and Winston chuckled back at them.
"I'm glad you like it. I'll let you get settled. You don't officially start until tomorrow, so get some rest."
He turned and left, and Olive stared across their new territory with their hands on their hips. Just cause they weren't on the payroll yet didn't mean that they couldn't try out the tools of their trade.
With several new batches of bizcochitos made (they had three ovens! They could bake six batches at the same time!) they made their way up to their room with a small plate of the cookies.
Inside their room, they noticed a small metal box on the wall, and immediately pressed a button on it, despite not knowing what it did.
"Athena program activated. What can I do for you, Mx. Sinclair?" A woman's voice responded, perky and happy to help.
"Oh, uh..." they had only just stuffed their mouth with a cookie and couldn't swallow it quick enough to respond.
"I can wait until you are finished eating."
They nodded and chewed before managing to finish what was in their mouth.
"Ok, what are... you?"
"I am the Athena program. I am an AI that protects the base, as well as our agents while that are on missions. I can answer any question you may have, and should you need help in the kitchen, I will be happy to help with anything I am able to."
"Oh, wow, thank you." They said with wide eyes.
"You are quite welcome, Mx. Sinclair. Do you need anything else at the moment?"
"Um... can you contact Winston?"
"Calling Winston..."
There were a few beeps before Winston's voice cut through over the speaker.
"Athena, I'm busy, I've got this- no, I can't take any- Athena please."
"Uh, Winston?" They asked, feeling like they were intruding.
"Oh! Olive! I didn't see that Athena patched you through. Is everything ok?"
"Yeah, it's great actually! I just wanted to tell you that there's cookies in the kitchen if you want some... They aren't peanut butter, if you were wondering."
"You didnt have to do that, Olive, you aren't-"
"I was just testing out the new digs, and it was easy! Recipe I know by heart. Barely took me over an hour."
"Well, I will try to make my way up. I believe that some agents are set to come back tonight, so they may make their way through the kitchen to grab some too."
"I made eight dozen, just to be safe."
"Y-you what!?"
"You said make meals fit for fifty people, and I know people like cookies, so I just made a lot."
"Th-that... well, I can't really argue with that. But I hope you don't work yourself too hard. We can't have you passing out on the job."
"I'm used to the hours required for being a chef, and I know how to take care of myself. I should be fine. But thank you for worrying, Winston. I'm headed to bed, but I'll be starting breakfast at four."
"Sleep well, Olive."
"Will do."
Athena cut the call and they got ready for bed slowly but steadily. They weren't especially tired, since they had rested on the plane, but they knew they had to be up early, so they had Athena play some relaxation music as they settled in for the night.
McCree got back to the base at the same time as and Lucio did. They sent tired greetings his way as they went down to debrief with Winston, and he headed for the kitchens. He would join them after he got something to eat.
He expected to just root around the fridge for something, but when he stepped into the kitchen, he was met with the smell of anise and sugar, and his mouth started watering. That was a smell he hadn't come across since before he wound up here. Back when he was still Gabriel's trainee.
He looked around the kitchen until his gaze fell on several large platters of bizcochitos. He picked one up, sniffed it, then took a bite.
It crumbled in his mouth and the sugar that coated it melted on his tongue. The anise was strong, but didnt overpower it with a licorice taste that some off-brand attempts would.
It was perfect.
He grabbed one of the platters and made his way down to Winston with a smile on his face. He ate as he walked.
When he reached the labs where Winston said he'd be, Lucio and Hana were just getting up to leave.
"Go get something to eat, you two. You did a good job. Oh, McCree." Winston looked up at him when he walked in, and the other two turned to look at him. "I see you found some snacks."
"Didjya make these, Winston? They're perfect." He said as he bit into another cookie. He wasn't even sure how many he had eaten at this point. The plate was certainly lighter.
"Cookies?" Lucio asked as he and Hana approached. "Can we have some?"
"Yeah, cowboy, don't hog them all!" Hana said, reaching for a stack. McCree smacked her hand away.
"Nuh-uh, little lady, these are alllll mine." He held the plate high above either of their heads so they couldn't reach it, even if they jumped. They both pouted.
"That's enough you three." Winston chuckled and grabbed the plate from McCree. "You can't eat eight dozen cookies in one sitting anyways, McCree."
"Eight dozen?" Hana asked.
"There should be more in the kitchen, yes. And to answer your earlier question, no I didn't make these." He popped one in his mouth and smiled. "Though I admit they are very good. My compliments to the chef."
"Wait," Lucio muttered. "You're the only one here. Who made them?"
"As of five pm today, I was not the only one here."
"Did Reinhardt come back early?" Hana wondered.
"Reinhardt doesn't know how to make cookies like these." McCree said absently. "Winston stop bein so cryptic."
He chuckled and shrugged.
"You'll meet them. By the way, what time is it?"
"Uh, 3:17?" Hana said as she checked her phone.
"You two need rest. McCree, sit down and debrief so you can go too."
Hana and Lucio headed out, not before stealing a few cookies for themselves, and McCree began the arduous task of explaining every portion of his mission to Winston as he typed. Usually they would do this with 76, but since he was busy tonight, Winston was in charge.
He trudged back up to the kitchens, intending to put the plate back where he found it. Between him, Winston, and a really boring talk, the cookies didn't stand a chance.
On his way out of cafeteria and towards the elevator, he ran into someone as he yawned.
"Whoopsie! Didn't see you there, cowboy." They said, sounding drowsy, like they had just woken up.
"It's alright, I wasn't- who the hell are you?"
They were small, round, with short shaved hair, and wearing a nondescript Tshirt under a pair of overalls. One of their hands was metal and glowed with a pinkish energy, and their left foot clunked heavily as they shifted.
"Oh! Right, hello, I'm Olive Sinclair. Winston hired me to be the chef around here. And you are?"
McCree just stared at them blankly for a few seconds.
"Wait, does that mean you're the one who made the cookies?"
"The bizcochitos? Yes sir! They're a favorite of mine. Did you have some?"
Instead of responding, he just leaned over and hugged them tightly and gave a little sniff.
"They were beautiful." He finally said as he stood upright again and tipped his hat. "The name's McCree. If you keep making things like that, I'm not sure I'll ever be going on a mission again, in favor of just eating all day."
Olive laughed a loud, full body laugh.
"Alright, Mr. McCree. Say, how many agents are here right now? I forgot to ask Athena."
"It's just me, Winston, Lucio and Hana. 76 may be coming in late morning, though."
"Thanks, buddy. I've gotta start on breakfast now, so that you'll have it warm when you get up."
He chuckled and let them pass, muttering "I'll be up at high noon." To himself before heading down to the elevator. There may have been a bit more pep in his step than before.
4:30 am marked the time Olive had everything prepped and ready to go. Winston had packed the fridge with ingredients from all over the world, some of which Olive had never seen before. But since they were only preparing for such a small portion of the team, they decided on something fairly simple.
That didn't mean they couldn't make it more complicated than they had to, of course, they did have a few hours before the others would be up after all.
They turned the oven on low and started mixing several different batches of pancake batter, then dying each mix a different color. As the griddle heated up, they considered some designs.
While working on the property, one of the other cooks had shown them how to make pancake art, and while they weren't usually the most talented with a pencil, they found that they had taken a liking to the food art.
Nearly an hour later, they had stacks of colorful pancakes staying warm in the oven, and set about to make a syrup.
Around 6:45, Winston wandered into the kitchen as they were setting out various toppings, and when they saw him they grabbed a banana, and made a gesture to ask if they could cut it up. He smiled and nodded and they sliced it into a bowl and set it beside bowls of chocolate chips and strawberry slices on the counter that separated the dining hall from the kitchen.
"There's so much stocked in here, Winston, I'm not sure what I can do with some of it." They said with a laugh as they took one of the pancake stacks out of the oven and in front of where Winston sat, leaning against the counter.
"You seem to be adapting just fine, though. The cookies were delicious, by the way." He investigated the various shaped pancakes and laughed as he took one out of the middle, that appeared to be a bunch of bananas. He gave them a side-long look and they looked proud.
"McCree mentioned that. I ran into him when I was coming in this morning. He hugged me. I think he might have cried a little."
"He's a good guy, if you don't mind the hat and the spurs."
"He's certainly something strange."
Winston watched them putter around the kitchen, cleaning dishes, setting out plates on the counter, and wiping things down. As he nibbled on his banana shaped pancake, he considered their mechanical hand, what he could see of their metal foot, and the implants in their ears. The latter was difficult to see, unless you knew what you were looking for.
"Do you think you'll like it here?"
"Hmm?" Olive turned to look at him as they wiped flour off of their overalls. They stared blankly at him for a moment, processing, then smiled wide.
"I haven't met everyone yet, but I think this'll be great." They glanced at his half eaten pancake. "Now finish eating, else I wouldn't really be feeding ya!"
As of this chapter, the good days/bad days tally is: Overwatch:1/0. Talon:0/0