Grounded

How arduous it is to be a fallen angel in 2026. These Americans are so empowered, so demanding. Where do they learn to be so assertive? If it weren’t for the tremendous opportunities for sin here, I’d go somewhere else. There’s so much pressure with today’s marketing presentation. Plus, my supervisor’s coming by later. I’ve decided to wear my lucky stilettos today.

It’s bad enough that I’m tasked with increasing the base sin rate by 10,000 a year, but I’m being punished to do it as a—yech—human. See, I made a little, teensy mistake. I didn’t even think anyone down there would notice. At least, I hoped they wouldn’t. And you can’t ask for forgiveness. That’s for the other side.

So, I’ve gotten this marketing job at Super Cereals. We’re about to relaunch our star product, Tasty Tidbits. My assistant, Sheila, is supervising a focus group. I’m going to step behind the two-way mirror and listen in.

Sheila’s standing in a lab coat at the head of a table, with eight mothers seated in front of cereal bowls and little boxes of Tasty Tidbits.

She says, “We’ve removed the artificial dyes and flavors, and substituted them with natural flavors and coloring. Our concern is whether parents will see these pastel colors, instead of the bright ones they’re used to, and not buy the cereal.”

One human with long brown hair says, “If that’s explained to us, I think that we’d still buy it.”

Several of the other women nod.

Sheila says, “I’m glad to hear it. That’ll be the first question on your questionnaires. Well, I’ll let you eat up, and I’ll come back in five minutes to get your feedback.”

She steps outside and startles when she sees me, then approaches me. “That’s the sales approach you were planning on for the ad campaign.”

“Exactly. ‘Here at Super Cereals, we want to do what’s best for your children. But if we take out the artificial colors and flavors, will you still love us?’”

“Well, I’d better go back inside.”

“It hasn’t been five minutes yet. Let the humans finish.”

“Why do you always say humans and not people? You’re human.”

I laugh. “Not by a long shot.”

She stands uneasily next to me as we watch them eat and chat.

Sheila says, “Um, nice shoes.”

“Why thank you, Sheila. Nice, er, what clean glasses you’re wearing today.”

One of the subjects says, “This cereal tastes exactly the same as before. My kids are going to love it.”

Sheila scurries into the room and hands out the questionnaires.

The plan is simple. High levels of sugar in kids’ food will make their blood glucose rise and drop dramatically, making them hungrier than if they’d eaten the same number of calories without it. They’ll start the habit of overeating early, training them in habits of greed and gluttony. We even added two more grams of sugar to the cereal because of the dull colors, which have been shown to affect perceptions of sweetness.

Sheila brings out the sheets of paper, quickly counting.

She says, “Just like the others. Now we have a significantly sized sample to take this to the VP.”

“That’s good, because I’m taking this to Mr. Adams in a few minutes.”

Sheila looks down. “I kind of feel bad, though. The ‘natural flavors’ are just as artificial as the old ones—all the food scientists had to do was start with natural molecules. They’ve been so processed with solvents and preservatives, they’re hardly natural. And the changes in food dyes won’t make much of a difference, either. But we’re saying it’s healthier.”

“Sheila, Sheila. It’s a cutthroat world out there. We must compete. If we lowered our sugar content, we’d lose out to our competitors.”

I turn on my heel and pick up a folder of artwork. I’m old school. Then I head for the VP’s office. Rounding the corner to the elevator, I spy a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a white, skirted suit. She seems familiar.

I hiss, “You! What are you doing here?”

Acerra continues to wait for the elevator. “You’ll have to walk with me to find out.”

I storm over to the elevator.

She looks at me appraisingly. “Nice suit. Armani?”

I won’t give her the pleasure of being right.

“It suits you,” she continues. “Deepest blue, band collar, form-fitting with structured shoulders. With that black hair and those looks, you must be terrifying. What do you call yourself here, Carissa?”

“Chiara. And white, really? That’s so cliché. But you haven’t explained what you’re up to.”

The elevator dings and we step inside.

Acerra pushes the fortieth floor. “Floor?”

“Same.”

She crosses her arms and turns slightly towards me. “That wasn’t very nice, giving my charge food poisoning. Now she can’t make her presentation, so I’ve been called in as a consultant to give her talk instead.”

“That’s, that’s highly unusual.”

“Still, it’s within the bounds. You’re only supposed to influence.”

We step out together and we both turn right.

“Wait, where are you going?” I demand.

“To Mr. Adams’ office. I have a 5:15 appointment.”

“Hah! Mine’s at 5.”

She seems unfazed.

It turns out my two-minute pitch is a success. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and step into the waiting area. Acerra is ushered in, and the assistant leaves to run some pointless errand. No one else is here.

Noxumbra, my demon supervisor, pops in out of thin air. Black hair in a dramatic brush up that’s spiky, nice fade on the sides. A spiky quiff, I think they call it. Standard black shirt, tie, and slacks. It’s so easy for the male management to dress. He brings his tablet out from nowhere.

“Afternoon, Carissa.”

“Chiara, please.”

“Let’s see how you’ve been doing.”

He looks down at the tablet. “Haven’t started any wars, lately, have you? Nor possessed anyone?”

I haven’t been able to possess anyone for 200 years, why bring that up? And he knows very well I’m not on war duty.

“No, I’m being more strategic in tempting humans to sin. This is going to pay off big.”

I give him the same pitch and the real rationale behind it.

He says, “That’s going to be way too slow. I need to see numbers. Numbers this quarter, not twenty years from now.”

“I’m contributing to a powerful trend. This is going to go way beyond 10,000 extra sins.”

“Haven’t you heard of focusing on the high-value 20% tasks and eliminating the rest? Have you tried using AI?”

“There’s no problem with my time management skills, nor my imagination. I’ll just have to come up with something quicker.”

Just then, Acerra walks out of the office, shaking the VP’s hand.

She says, “I’m glad things are going better with your son’s health. Please let me know how he’s doing after the tests.”

“I’ll do that, Acerra. Glad you could stop by.”

He goes back into his office.

I get a cold, tight feeling in my stomach.

Acerra says, “Noxumbra, it’s been a while.”

I ask, “How did it go?”

“I just explained that our research showed we’d found a sweet spot in sugared cereals, and that people enjoy the taste more when we drop it by 5%. He feels awful about how much sugar they use in their products. He’s going to brag about lowering the sugar in a new campaign. Plus, he’s going to reformulate it for a new cereal targeted at adults with more protein and fat, so it doesn’t cause sugar spikes. Soon they’ll be giving it to their kids. He’s relieved.”

I march over to the door and knock.

“Yes?”

“It’s Chiara, may I come in?”

Mr. Adams opens the door, but he doesn’t move. I’m stuck standing awkwardly in the doorway.

I ask, “Aren’t we going to go with my Tasty Tidbits campaign?"

“Change of plans, Chiara. You had good ideas, but I like this one better,” he says, looking at Acerra.

“What if we kept to my marketing campaign, but added a brown burlap background to make it look even more wholesome?”

“I’m afraid I’ve made up my mind. Better luck next time.”

I take a breath, but don’t say anything for a moment. More would just hurt my case.

I say sweetly, “Well, have a nice day.”

He shuts the door again. I’m furious.

Noxumbra stares at me and nods. “So, not only did you come up with this painfully slow plan, but it didn’t even succeed because of her interference. You need some serious retraining. I’m going to recommend a professional development seminar series for you.”

“Nooo. I hate those.”

He disappears.

Acerra says. “I’ll be going, too. No cheating, now. ‘Night, Chiara.”

Touché. “’Night, Acerra.”