What's this? TWO drabbles in one day, after over a year laying fallow? Well that's what having other pressures do to you. Kindly look for "Cranky Rabbit" on MixCloud, I've been rather active over there.

Anyway, this is inspired by a Skyrim/X-COM crossover I found, that didn't go anywhere. This won't go anywhere either, since with these crossovers it's the setup and first contact which are the most fun. The sheer complexity of working out how the appearance of a technologically advanced Vault would impact on the nasty business between the Thalmor, Empire and Stormcloak factions would most likely drive me completely barmy instead of halfway barmy like I already am.

The chamber which held the Vault door was etched in harsh white light and jet shadow. The floods mercilessly illuminated the rusting, yellow-painted sunburst of the multi-ton door, the skeletal metal walkway that led up to it, steps rising from a floor awash in dust and hundred-year-old skeletons. Towards the end, dozens of people had sought shelter, desperate and doomed. The Overseer at the time had taken a simple stance on their pleas: He'd shut off the feed from the cameras. Ignorance was bliss.

There was also a stubby tube, tired metal and scratched glass. Now lights winked on, and with a wail of unlubricated parts, the tube split open as the occupant declared, "Powering - up. Protectron - on - duty."

Chief Frankton, along with the Overseer and more eggheads than he was comfortable with, watched nervously as the protectron waddled its ungainly way down the stairs, crushing old cans, crude signs, and bone underfoot as it crossed the cavern to the exit. This was it. When the robot reached the cave mouth, they would know where they were, what waited outside - assuming that nothing was waiting that might see the machine as a threat.

"Going up," someone muttered unnecessarily. Frankton begrudged that. The further the protectron went, the more likely they'd encounter something, or even someone, using the tunnel as a residence.

"Stop there!" one of the scientists yelped, "look at the wall!"

Frankton didn't begrudge that order. There was a blatant and dramatic change in the tunnel's shape and composition, a gently curving line running from the ceiling to the floor. Stalactites had been truncated by the appearance of the Vault's surrounding stone. Further on, the dust stopped abruptly, except where...

"Someone's been here," Frankton groaned, "Fuck. Now they'll likely raise the alarm..."

The robot stood still, patiently aiming its cameras up the cave wall. "Kill the lights," and the video went dark, except for a flickering glow coming from around a corner. Fire. The quiet clitter of keys heralded the resumption of progress.

Wilf peered into the darkness. There had been a bright light wobbling towards his place, a hastily erected wood and wattle fence with torches. The idea, his boss explained, was that when anyone or anything came round the bend, they'd be dazzled and an easy target.

The light had died abruptly about a minute and a half ago, and now he could hear a rhythmic clunking and rattling. It didn't sound like any animal, or even daugr, he knew of. Maybe it was Dwemer, or possibly Falmer?

The clunky rattler rounded the corner, and Wilf was convinced. Dwemer. The thing in front of him, apparently staring at him and making odd noises, was some sort of automaton.

"You stay right there," he called as pugnaciously as he could. He'd heard stories about what those things could do.

"Hold deg der du er!" the protectron heard, and its audience as well, if a little tinny.

"Fuck, language barrier," someone observed disgustedly.

"I dunno," Frankton noted, "That line's a good one for when company comes calling."

"Ha ha," the Overseer responded drily. "How far away is the cave entrance? Any ideas?"

"None, and can we get the protectron back before Beardy the Chickenheart there decides to go bot-tipping?"

That shut everyone up. Frankton looked at the operator. "Time to bring it back," he instructed.

Wilf watched as the machine clumsily turned on the spot, before waddling back into the darkness whence it came. Curiosity grabbed him, and he snuck in pursuit.

"Beardy's following."

"Good, let's see his face when he reaches the door."

It was a classic expression of surprise, actually. Agape, Wilf took in the skeletons, the immense door, the automaton waddling up the stairs into a sort of pillar, which closed on it as it croaked incomprehensible words. Gingerly, he shuffled between the corpses, gazing at them in confusion, then mounted the metal stairs. He didn't notice or hear the whine of the cameras turning to follow him, as he peered in bewilderment at the ruined control panel.

Something appeared to spook him, as he looked around again before hurrying away. Frankton couldn't blame him. All those dead were kinda freaking him out too.