What is the mark of the breast?

The mark of the breast is one of the events of the end times given in the Apocryphal book 3 Fallacians 3:14. It is a precursor to the start of the Tribulation.

Third Fallacians 2 sets the scene. At the rapture of the church, millions of people will be taken in the air to follow Jesus into heaven. The toil on the economy will be staggering. Before very long, the food distribution system will grind to a sputter as meat packaging plants, trucking companies, and farms struggle to find workers. At first, survivors will ransack the vacant homes of believers, raiding their pantries and freezers for food. Before too long, however, entire communities will panic as food becomes more and more scarce.

This is before the rise of the Antichrist, remember. He has yet to broker peace with Israel and her neighbors. More importantly, he has yet to rebuild the world's economy and trade to something approaching helpful, limiting it to those who have the mark of the beast.

Third Fallacians 3 is in the form of a narrative:

On a warm Tuesday night in Boise, Idaho, a woman is scavenging for beans and rice behind a Popeye's. She finds a chicken sandwich, but ew. She tosses it to a rat hiding in the shadows. He takes one sniff and keels over. The wind shifts, blowing the clouds away from the full moon. The woman looks up realizes: the Chick-fil-A next door has its lights on, but there's no one there. In fact, she thinks, there hasn't been anyone there for months. She tries to remember—was that even a Chick-fil-A before? She creeps to the back of the building to find the door ajar. A bedraggled, middle-aged man in a soiled apron greets her.

"So, you have found us," he says.

"Found who?" She tries to look past him, but the hall is empty.

"The Order of the Sacred Sauce."

He takes a large swig of lemonade. Well, she thinks it's lemonade, but the Styrofoam cup hides the contents.

"Are you pure in heart?" he asks.

"Uh, no more than usual."

"Do you swear to use what I am about to give you only for good?"

"I suppose. . ."

"Very well. Stay here."

He shuts the door. The woman looks around. There's no one in the parking lot. The clouds blow over the moon. The door opens again.

"Don't try to find us again," he says. "The Order of the Sacred Sauce will find you and all who are worthy." He hands her a white bag with a red graphic of a chicken. "Would you like sauce with that?"

The woman can smell something she hasn't smelled in months. Something delicious. "Yes, please."

He drops a handful of packets in the bag and hands it to her. She opens it and inhales deeply. A warmth fills her heart and her mouth waters.

She looks up at the man. The moon escapes the clouds. He seems taller, somehow—more noble.

"Thank you, sir!"

The moonlight reaches the man's forehead and she sees it—a glowing mark in the form of a tasty chicken breast sandwich.

As he closes the door, she thinks she can hear him say, "My pleasure."

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