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The Company

The Company

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 The Company Watch this on Rumble: https://rumble.com/v6vx1js-the-company.html He got the job. After years of struggling—applications, interviews, rejections—this one stuck. It was the kind of corporation you’d only hear about in whispers. Tall towers. Clean floors. No logos on the outside. Just… presence. Everyone who worked there walked like they knew something others didn’t. He didn’t know how his résumé even got through. But one day, the call came. “Your background check cleared. You’ve been selected.” No one told him what exactly the company did—but the benefits were legendary. Lifetime security. Room to grow. Purpose. On his first day, they scanned his palm, took his photo, and printed his ID badge. His name. His face. His access level. That card was everything. Swipe it, and doors opened. People nodded. Machines responded. Elevators took him where others couldn’t go. His badge carried weight—not because of what he’d done, but because of who had approved him. At first, he was careful. Followed protocol. Never strayed from the map. But time passed. Confidence crept in. One day, he swiped into a room he wasn’t sure he had access to. The door opened. Inside were schematics—maps, names, information he didn’t understand. He told himself it was harmless. Curiosity, that’s all. The next day, he noticed something odd. His badge blinked before unlocking. A small delay. Like the system was thinking. Like it was uncertain. Later that week, one of his coworkers warned him: “Don’t play with clearance. The system tracks everything.” But by then, he’d already swiped into three off-limits areas. He didn’t take anything. Didn’t damage a thing. But something… shifted. The coffee machine didn’t recognize him. The elevator to his floor stalled. One door beeped red before letting him in. Then one morning—he arrived at the turnstile. Swiped his badge. Access denied. He laughed it off. Tried again. Access denied. He called IT. They said his profile had been flagged for irregular activity. “Someone used your badge last night,” they said. “The logs don’t match your behavior pattern.” “But I was home,” he protested. “Doesn’t matter,” they said. “It was your badge. Your code. We have to investigate.” Security escorted him off the floor. He wasn’t fired… not yet. But he couldn’t enter. Couldn’t work. Couldn’t even get into his locker. His badge—his identity—was compromised. He sat outside the building for hours, watching others swipe in. People with less talent, less drive—but clean records. Untouched profiles. Authorized. He realized something horrifying: This corporation didn’t run on talent. It ran on trust. And trust, once broken, isn’t easily restored. He spent weeks trying to prove his innocence. Sent emails. Filed appeals. Begged for reinstatement. Some said he’d never get back in. But then—months later—he got a message. “Report to the south gate.” He did. A woman in a dark suit met him. No words. Just a new badge. It looked the same… but when he turned it over, there was a mark—something golden, etched into the plastic. He didn’t understand it. But when he swiped it? Every door opened. Even ones he’d never seen before. The others looked confused. Whispers spread. “I thought he was flagged…” “How did he get back in?” “That badge... is different.” He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t test limits. He knew now: the badge wasn’t just plastic. It was a key, a signature, a trust. And this time… he wasn’t going to lose it. Let me tell you what that story really was. When you were born, you were issued a keycard. Not plastic. Not digital. Blood. A living, breathing credential—coded with your name, your breath, your destiny. And you didn’t earn it. Jesus handed it to you. Your background was already checked. Your past was already cleared. You were hired on the spot—not because of what you could do, but because the CEO—the Father—knew you before you were even formed. He wrote your profile by hand. He’d been watching you, pursuing you, planning for you—not because you were impressive, but because He loves you, and He sees in you the potential for great things in His Kingdom. But every day, since the moment you received that keycard, you’ve been approached. Competition wants you. Not because of your skills. Not because of your résumé. But because of your access. They want your keycard. They want to breach the company—Heaven’s registry. They want the codes. They want the blueprints. They want to learn the secrets of how the Kingdom works—and they can’t do it without a valid badge. So they offer you things. Shortcuts. Promotions. Illusions of freedom. They tell you the CEO is too strict. That His building is too limiting. That there’s a better firm, one where you can be in charge. Where you write your own protocols. But ...
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