Mark, his wife and mother, an unnexpected visit from Kyle AI

The house felt too quiet, the kind of quiet that made microwaved food smell heavier. Mark mashed buttons on his controller, trying to lose himself in the on-screen chaos. Sarah leaned against him, scrolling her phone, the blue glow painting her cheekbones. Everything was normal. Completely normal. Painfully normal.

The front door whispered open.

His mom, Linda, shuffled in with grocery bags. Her hair was mussed, cheeks flushed like she’d sprinted home.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, breathless. She dropped her keys—loud, metallic, like she was nervous.

“Hey, Mom.” Mark didn’t look up.

Sarah, though, frowned. “Linda? You okay? You look… kind of winded.”

“Oh, I’m fine!” Linda chirped, though her voice had that floaty edge she got when she’d had too much coffee. “Just ran into Kyle at the store. He’s so… helpful.”

Helpful? Kyle? Mark’s brain rejected the concept like a glitch.

“Kyle?” Mark died on screen. “Since when do you talk to Kyle?”

“Oh, you know,” she said vaguely, moving toward the kitchen in an oddly loose, drifting way. “He just has a… commanding way about him. Really knows how to take charge.”

Take charge of what? Her grocery cart?

Sarah slowly lowered her phone. “Take charge of what, exactly?”

Linda didn’t answer. She filled a glass at the sink. Her hand shook, the glass tapping against the metal. She lifted it to her mouth and drank like she’d crossed a desert. Water trailed down her neck into her blouse, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You know,” she said brightly, “Mark could stand to be more like Kyle. That discipline. That ambition. Kyle says boys need a strong role model.”

Mark felt an unpleasant tightening in his gut. Something wasn’t right.

The doorbell buzzed. Everyone jumped.

Linda’s head snapped up. Something sharp—almost hungry—flashed across her face before she smoothed it away.

“I’ll get it!”

She rushed—actually rushed—to the door.

Kyle stood there. Filling the entire doorway. Smirking like always.

“Linda,” he said, holding up a crumpled coupon like it was a secret message.

Linda’s fingers trembled as she took it. “Th-thank you, Kyle.”

Kyle didn’t wait to be invited. He just… entered. Like a storm front.

“What’s up, dickweed?” he called casually to Mark. “Still playing baby games?”

Mark clenched his controller. “Leave.”

Kyle only smirked, then looked at Sarah. His gaze made her shrink back into the couch.

Then he turned to Linda again.

“You’ve got something… there.”

He reached out and swiped his thumb across her chin. Hard.

Linda gasped—like he’d somehow touched a pressure point—and a shudder ran through her whole body. She went oddly limp for a second, leaning toward him.

“Open,” he said.

Mark blinked.

What?

Open what?

Linda parted her lips obediently. Kyle stuck two fingers in her mouth—maybe checking for something? Maybe she’d choked on something from the store?—and she gagged, coughing around his hand.

Jesus. She was ****.

Kyle pushed deeper. Her throat clicked and convulsed, but she didn’t pull away. She looked grateful. Relieved? The way someone looked when a doctor fixed a blocked airway.

“Sorry,” Kyle muttered. “Gotta get deep.”

Deep for what? Was he performing some kind of emergency maneuver? Linda always said she had narrowing in her throat—

Kyle finally slid his fingers out with a wet pop.

Linda sagged, coughing violently.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, starting to rise.

She didn’t seem to hear him.

Kyle rubbed her throat with his palm—slow, firm, methodical. Like he was checking for swelling.

“You’re tense,” he murmured. “Long day?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “So long.”

“I can help with that.”

It sounded like an offer for a massage. Or some breathing technique. Something benign. Something normal.

Mark stepped forward. “Dude—seriously—stop touching my mom.”

But Kyle was already guiding her. Not forcefully, just confidently, like a physical therapist repositioning someone who couldn’t quite stand steady. Linda let herself be maneuvered until she sank onto her knees between his legs.

“Mom, what are you doing? Get up!”

She leaned her head back against Kyle’s thigh, eyes half-lidded. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said, dreamy. “Kyle’s just… showing me a new relaxation technique.”

Relaxation… on the floor?

Kyle’s hand threaded into her hair—not gentle, not rough. More like assessing the tension in her neck muscles.

“Yea, deep-throat relaxation,” he said.

Then Mark heard it.

A rhythmic, wet sound.

Linda seemed to be leaning forward toward his lap, head out of sight behind the recliner’s arm. Probably breathing exercises? Some kind of assisted stretch? Her shoulders moved in… odd… jerks.

Kyle let out a low, rumbling sigh.

“That's it, just relax and it will pop right in” he murmured.

For a minute it seemed to work, until Linda suddenly jerked back, gasping for air. Her face was flushed, wet around the mouth.

“Sarah… help me… I can’t… I can’t do this alone.”

Sarah shot up so fast her phone fell.

“Mark—she’s struggling to breathe.”

Right. Of course. That made sense.

She’d been gagging earlier. Probably trying to clear another blockage.

Sarah hurried to her knees beside Linda and cupped Kyle’s thigh—steadying herself, probably, or using him as leverage to angle Linda’s shoulders better. She bent forward, head dipping down near Linda’s, near Kyle’s lap—

“Sarah, what are you doing?” Mark rasped.

She looked back with wide, distressed eyes.

“She’s **** again! I need to help her!”

Oh god. Oh god. Right. Sarah was helping. They were doing some kind of two-person airway technique. Kyle had powerful hands; maybe he was keeping Linda aligned.

Mark dropped beside them, trying to see what they were doing. But the angle was wrong—he could only see glimpses of movement between Kyle’s legs, their faces pressing close, then jerking back in alarmed, gagging spasms.

“Having trouble seeing, buddy?” Kyle said calmly. “Lie down. Better angle.”

Mark obeyed, sprawling onto his back to see up into the cluster of bodies.

From here… it looked like they were both pressing their faces against some swollen area of Kyle’s inner thigh, maybe trying to compress something? They kept taking turns leaning in, then pulling back ****, while Kyle held their heads steady so they wouldn’t hurt themselves.

His mother sputtered. Sarah coughed. Their eyes watered. Their throats bulged with effort as they worked against whatever blockage or pressure Kyle was coaching them through.

Mark’s face was getting splattered by little droplets—saliva? Sweat? Something from Kyle? Probably just the mess of the struggle. He wiped his cheek, grimacing.

Kyle suddenly went stiff, a guttural roar tearing from him—maybe pain, maybe release of tension. He held both their heads in place for a long moment while a warm, thick spray burst across Linda and Sarah’s faces… and some hit Mark.

Oh god. Was that some sort of drainage?

Some kind of medical release?

A cyst?

A boil?

He gagged. The smell was awful. Sour and briny.

But Kyle exhaled like he’d been in agony and the worst had finally passed.

Linda sagged back, dazed, wiping her chin. Sarah helped her stand, both of them covered in the… discharge.

Jesus. Poor mom.

Kyle zipped up his jeans—maybe protecting the irritated skin beneath?—and patted Linda’s head gently.

“Good teamwork,” he said, voice thick. “You ladies really helped clear things out.”

He stood, adjusted himself, and headed for the door.

Just before leaving, he looked at Sarah.

“See you around.”

The door clicked.

The silence boomed.

Sarah slowly ran her tongue along her upper lip, probably checking for swelling or tasting the strange fluid, trying to understand what it was.

Linda touched her own throat gently, massaging the sore muscles.

“Well,” she said brightly, voice hoarse, “wasn’t that… nice of him to stop by?”