Full Armour Full-time 2

Author: themalevalproject
Title: Full Armour. Full-time. #2
Date: 11 June 2018

I got a message from the staff department, instructing me to meet the staff manager immediately. He welcomed me with a big smile and told me that this was my lucky day. The board had decided that I would become the man inside the armour! I probably got pale, but he didn‘t seem to notice it and went on talking: My known devotion to heavy plate armour and my long experience in wearing it made me the perfect candidate to suffer the severe long-term encasement which this position required. Everybody knew how much I liked to wear armour, and now I would get the unique chance to turn my hobby into a job. I would be in full armour every day! He was very sure that I‘d love it. He didn‘t even wait for my response. He promised me a small raise and made clear that I could accept to get fitted into my new permanent uniform as soon as possible, or get fired. The department had already prepared a legal contract. I read it, in a trance-like state. This paper irreversibly bound me to wear a custom-made full plate armour, permanently, for a minimum of the next ten years! The staff manager offered me no time for consideration. With a big smile, he handed me a pen. „Sign here, there, and there!“

I signed the contract with a deep sigh. I doubted if this was the right thing to do, but I understood that I didn't have much of a choice. The staff manager took the contract and read cheerfully: "Ten years of forced full-time encasement, without possibility to revoke. Very nice!" He congratulated me to my decision. „Report to our house blacksmith to get measured. He‘ll keep you there for the fitting process. In just a few days, you‘ll be securely bolted into iron.“ I remember that I saw the big smirk of the staff manager like in a fog. „I‘ll see you in full armour soon!“

Outside the office, I wasn‘t as enthusiastic. Ten years were a damn long time. Maybe I just made the biggest mistake of my life. But then, I do like wearing armour. I had often spent hours in my own full suit, just because I liked the feeling of encasement. I just felt good and safe in there. And I had always felt disappointed when it got too hot and uncomfortable after some time and I reluctantly had to get out. I had always wanted to be under full iron much longer, and more often. Well, now I would. Wether I liked it or not, I would be in full plate armour every day, full-time. And I would be forced to keep the iron on, no matter how hot and confining it felt. Soon I would be able to cope with really long and regular times under full iron - as I had always wanted. No early get-out because of heat or discomfort any more. I would simply have to stay firmly bolted into my iron and endure it. I knew it would be quite tough. But maybe a forced, strict endurance training in a full plate armour wouldn't even be so bad for me. Maybe, after all, I was really the perfect candidate for a severe long-term encasement.

-

Only three days later I found myself thoroughly buckled and bolted into my brandnew custom-made suit of armour. Everybody was enthusiastic how nicely this steel suit was polished and how wonderfully it sparkled in the light. It was a truly beautiful piece of metal craftsmanship. But now that I was firmly locked up, I was shocked to realise how terrifying thick and massive, and how brutally tight-fitting my armour was. I tried a few steps and noticed that this suit was even much more restrictive than I had expected. My tightly encased upper body was completely stiff from the neck to the waist. Inside the fixed helmet, my head was held in a rigid upright position. I could rotate my head half an inch to the sides, and that was it. I was able to walk, but the movability of my legs was limited to a minimum. Also the movements of my arms were thoroughly restricted. I could bend my elbows just a few degrees, then the movement was stopped by the inflexible joint. Even all my fingers were fully encased into surprising thick steel. My whole body was forced into a rigid straight posture. I was hardly able to move. My stiff restricted movements inside the rigid steel suit must have made me look like a robot.

My new workwear was far from comfortable. It would be horribly tough to carry this massive iron suit as my daily uniform.

I already regretted my decision to sign this damn contract. But now that I was successfully packed into iron, there was no turning back. When I was finally completely strapped and bolted in, I was offered to step in front of a mirror. I was stunned. I saw the figure of a well-proportioned man who seemed to be sleekly welded into wonderfully sparkling, extensively polished steel. There were no decorations on the metal, and it enveloped the contours of its muscular occupant like a second skin. I really liked what I saw. For one moment I forgot the harsh conditions that this beautiful piece of craftsmanship would force onto me. I forgot how hard it would be to have to live inside all this sparkling metal. The armour made me look like a shiny steel statue. If my dark tanned face wouldn‘t have been visible under the opened visor, it would have been hard to imagine that a living man could be trapped inside this rigid, hermetic steel figure. And for some reason, I liked that. If I needed to be turned into a steel statue against my will, at least this statue looked really good. And if I needed to be permanently imprisoned into thick steel, at least this confinement was stunning perfect.

I was torn out of my thoughts and ordered to walk over to the board's room to let them check my new uniform. Already with the first few steps I started to sweat all over. Every movement was mercilessly restricted by the weight, tightness and rigidity of the solid steel. This was more brutal than I had expected in my worst nightmares. I noticed that I would need quite some practice to get used to the weight of the suit. Even walking was a horrible effort. I walked carefully, struggling to keep my balance under the enormous load of metal that had been locked around my body. I tried to walk a little bit faster, but immediately got out of breath and had to slow down again to a very slow walk. Step by step, otherwise I would suffocate or stumble. Fuck, I would really need to learn how to move inside this restrictive metal shell! I hoped that I would never have to hurry in this massive thing. Running in this restrictive suit would be completely impossible. With every step, my armour made some clanking noises.

Several times the visor fell down by itself with a loud clank, and I had to struggle quite a bit to lift up my rigid iron arm high enough to reach it. When it happened for the first time, I realised that I couldn‘t open the visor just by lifting it up. Obviously, it had snapped into some kind of locking mechanism by itself, and I had to fumble around some time to find out how the mechanism worked. No one had explained that detail to me, and it didn‘t really help much that even my fingertips were encased into rigid, smooth metal. I cursed under the thick metal plate that had suddenly locked itself onto my face and limited my sight to a very narrow slit of light. I sighed and gasped for air when I finally managed to open the visor again, only to find that a few steps later, it locked shut again. I stumbled forward with careful steps, holding up a rigid straight posture, partly because I couldn‘t bend anyway, partly to keep the stupid visor from locking shut again. I was clanking like a machine in action, sweating, sometimes cursing aloud and often in my thoughts.

I already hated this goddamn armour. How would I ever cope with wearing this damn steel prison full-time? Why did I let myself get stuck into this horribly thing?

However, everybody who came by, and it was busy in this part of the house, seemed very happy to see me in my new steel suit. Many colleagues congratulated me, firmly slapping my solid back plate or my armoured shoulders. Some shook my rigid iron-clad hand. Everybody told me how great I looked in full iron. Everyone admired the mirror-like shine of my suit. Somehow this cheered me up a little bit. I thought back to how I had seen myself in the mirror as an impressive, shiny steel statue. Even though I started to understand how damn hard it would be to be stuck in here under such strict conditions, I still had to agree that the massive iron suited me really well, in every meaning of that word. One colleague joked with a blinking eye that I should always wear this nice outfit from now on. I smiled, though I didn‘t really liked to be mocked for my half-involuntary encasement. Did everybody know about my full-time contract? Did they know that I was not really walking around as this clumsy robot completely voluntarily?

-

I was soaked in sweat when I finally reached the board‘s room. I felt like I was imprisoned in a portable sauna. It proved that a rigid iron glove that completely encases the back and palm of the hand as well as all the fingers is rather unpractical if you want to swipe sweat from your face. And of course, I had no hanky in the pocket, as my iron suit didn‘t have, and never would have, any pockets. So the sweat was trickling down my face under the helmet, and there was nothing to hide it. Somehow I was relieved that at least my hermetically sealed suit did not let out any of the sweat that had collected underneath. No matter how sweaty it got in here, the outside of my iron skin would still keep its flawless shine. My sweaty red face would be the only part that would give away the hardships that I had to endure in this otherwise literally stainless outfit.

Then my new working attire was to be inspected by the board members. The staff manager shortly introduced me. „Here, gentlemen, stands our newest permanent exhibit, a full suit of plate armour, made to measure for one of our men who thankfully agreed to get fitted into it.“ While he talked, I noticed that he often said „the armour“ when he was actually talking about me, as if the man inside the armour didn‘t exist or was of no importance, like „I‘m happy that the armour came here for this first inspection,“ or „We expect the armour ready for full-time duty in a few weeks.“ He ordered me to stand in the middle of the room with a snappy „Armour, here!“ I started to wonder if I had already ceased to be human, but turned into an object, a steel robot which could be ordered around.

The board members were then invited to check all the details of my suit, which they did with quite a big exitement and curiosity. As I had not been introduced as a person and not allowed to speak, they didn‘t seem to care about the man under the iron at all. They pushed me gently around and touched my heavy cuirass, my helmet, my iron-clad arms and legs. One of them even inspected my iron-encased fingers and armoured feet and nodded in satisfaction. The staff manager explained the mechanism of my visor to one of the board members, then he clanked it firmly shut and quietly commanded „Locked mode. I‘ll tell you when to open it again.“

Then I got the order to show the movability of my suit, which rather proved the extreme limitations of my freedom than any noteworthy movability. But while I struggled in my rigid outfit, everybody seemed satisfied with the result. I even heard one board member say to another: "He can hardly move in there! Very nice!" When everybody had understood how limited my freedom inside the new uniform really was, the staff manager snapped „Stop, armour at attention!“ I was again surprised by the bossy military tone of the guy, but it had the desired effect: I obeyed immediately, took a straight posture, pressed my gloves to my armoured legs, kept quiet and looked straight ahead through the eyeslits. „Everyone please sit down, except the armour, of course.“ Jesus, this weird habit really started to get on my nerves. Standing still, I received some firm slaps onto my solid iron back from several board members. So, some of them had anyhow noticed that there is a human being under the metal. But I couldn‘t tell if their heavy slaps were meant compassionate, mocking, or even contemptuous.

Everybody sat down in a half circle of chairs, while I stood in the middle, at rigid attention as ordered, with my visor still shut. The staff manager stood a few steps away at my side. I wasn‘t able to see him, as he stood outside the narrow range of my vision, I couldn‘t move my head, and I didn‘t dare to turn to the side. So, I only heard his voice, a little bit muffled under my helmet. He thanked me for reporting to the board at my first day in my full equipment. As this equipment, he went on, had cost a huge amount of money, he was happy to announce that I had signed in for a minimum of full ten years. Furthermore, he had been able to convince me to become a full-time display piece. As no other man would be able to replace me in my custom-made suit, the whole profit of the armour would depend on its occupant being inside as long as possible. Only with a living man kept encased and on duty all the time, they could maximize the functionality of their expensive object. There was an applause. As I had to peek through the very narrow slits of my visor, which made it hard to read the faces of the audience, I was not sure if the applause was meant for me, the hero who had just signed in for a horribly stressful job, or for him, the clever guy who had convinced a naive weirdo to let himself get stuck into this stupid iron suit for good.

He explained to everybody the conditions of my new assignment. He underlined that the "contract for forced full-time encasement" that I had signed specified that I would be „on permanent duty in full armour" for a minimum of 120 hours a week "without any release". I would usually be placed in the park in front of the museum, starting already two hours before the museum officially opened, and staying there still some hours after closing. I would be on duty sixteen to eighteen hours per day. Breaks for food and bathroom would be limited to a minimum and subtracted from the duty hours.

He pointed out that on non-opening days, I would neither be freed from my duty nor from my iron, but used otherwise. For example, I could be deployed to hand out flyers to passers-by, of course in my full mandatory uniform, and of course for at least 16 hours per day. Or I could be sent to schools as living display material for history class. He said thanks „to the man who agreed to become, if I may say so, the permanent human content of our newest exhibition object. He‘s got a tough job in there. Wish him luck for his training!“ Again some applause. Nervously, I tried to make a bow, but in my rigid suit I didn‘t succeed very well.

Only now that I was irreversibly stuck in my terribly oppressive new uniform, the consequences of that contract struck me. There'd be no time off for me, no time outside all this metal - for years! No free evenings, no free weekends, no holidays. For the next ten years, I would be permanently living in this armour, all day long, seven days a week. I would have no freedom or choice. I would be required to wear full armour full-time, wether I liked it or not. If necessary, I would be kept in full iron by force. Maybe I would even be ordered to keep my visor shut most of the time! I started to sweat again. For the next ten years, or even longer, I would never wear anything else but polished steel.

And I would probably have to obey commands. Would I even get some kind of military formal training? Marching in lockstep, standing at attention, saluting? A strict military drill in full armour? The suspicious pleasure that the staff manager found in calling me „armour“ and ordering me around, as if I was a robot, was quite disturbing. It looked like he planned to depersonalise me, reduce me to be „the armour“. Did he see me my future as some kind of mindless steel drone?

But even without his involvement, my whole life would be strictly disciplined from now on. It would be tough. But I didn't have any choice anymore. I had to accept my brutal permanent encasement. I was trapped.

Then the president spoke. He underlined how enthusiastic he was to see me standing in front of him like this, at crisp attention, and finally bolted into iron. He declared how happy he was with my new uniform. He was very satisfied to see how completely and how very tight the steel covered my whole body, and how incredibly massive my suit was. Everything had been made exactly like he had expected it, maybe even better. He made a joke about the many „riveting“ tasks that would wait for me in my „riveted uniform“. Everybody laughed but me. Anyhow, with the visor locked, no one would have noticed. He thanked me that, despite the evident loss of freedom that my impressive uniform and contract involved, I had been so eager and cooperative to get myself fitted into this masterpiece of steel crafting. „We were not sure if anyone would be bold enough to get locked into such an intimidating uniform for such a long time.“ But soon they had found a man who had applied for this challenge without any hesitation. „I‘m sure that the lucky man in there is exactly in the right spot now.“ He turned towards me. „Our staff manager told me that you even begged to get locked in there as long as possible.“ I swallowed my anger, and I can imagine that I blushed under my helmet. „We decided that ten years would be a good start.“ Some laughter in the audience. „Unfortunately, we can‘t see your expression now, but we all know how very much you love heavy armour, and I bet that there is a big happy smile under that blank iron mask right now! You really belong in there! I am as happy to see you in that wonderful armour, as you must be happy to wear it!“

In this moment, I was even happy that no one could see my face. By now, I was really cooking from the stifling heat under my suit and under the locked visor. There were only a few very tiny air holes in the massive steel plate that had been locked onto my face for quite some time now, and slowly I became desperate to open this damn mask again. The president was clever enough not to hand the microphone to me and ask me how I happy I really was about my beautiful new outfit and contract. Maybe he had not planned to let me talk at all, or maybe my blank iron face made him wonder wether I could be heard at all through that thick metal plate, I don‘t know. But I was relieved when I was finally sent out of the room without being asked to say a single word myself. I was dismissed with another applause. The staff manager used the moment to come close and mumble into my tiny left ear hole: „Turn around, armour! Back to workshop! Dismissed!“ With this, he shoved me to the door.

-

Outside the room, I struggled to open my visor again, when I suddenly heard the staff manager behind me. „Armour, at attention!“ I automatically put my armoured feet next to each other and clanked into a rigid position. Maybe I would get used to military commands sooner than I thought. „You never open your visor in locked mode! Understood?“ I peeked through my narrow eye slits and felt horribly helpless. „Understood, Sir!“ I was shocked to hear my own voice echoing inside the tight space behind my iron mask. It would definitley need some time to get used to this fucking full encasement! But this seemed to have been the right answer. „Great. Now let‘s get you some air again.“ He unlocked and opened my visor. „Thank you, Sir.“ Finally, I felt at least a little bit human again. My face must have been red from the heat. The staff manager smiled. „Hot in there, hm?“ „Yes, Sir.“ Suddenly, the guy looked quite friendly again. „You‘ll get used to the heat after some weeks in there. By the way, I‘m impressed how well you took your first few hours under iron. You were an obedient armour. I‘m really happy the we could get you locked in there.“ „Thank you, Sir,“ „Okay, now go to the workshop. The sooner you start your training, the sooner we can weld you in full-time and present you to the public. I‘ll see you soon and check how your endurance drill goes. For the rest of today, you'll be in locked mode." With this, he clanked my visor shut again.

"Enjoy your first day of training - armour!“ He blinked, slapped onto my backplate, and I watched him leave through my eyeslits, dumbfolded.

Weld me in? Did he really say that? I got an idea how challenging this job would really be.