SHOCKER: DC Comics writer FIRED for cheering Charlie Kirk’s tragedy—then DOUBLES DOWN with zero regrets! 😱 Her venomous posts sparked a firestorm, but what she said next will leave you speechless. Is this free speech or pure chaos? Click the link to uncover the wild truth!
On September 10, 2025, the world of American politics was rocked to its core. Charlie Kirk, the 31-year-old conservative lightning rod and founder of Turning Point USA, was gunned down during a live event at Utah Valley University. A single bullet from a rooftop sniper—later identified as 22-year-old Tyler Robinson—ended Kirk’s life mid-speech, silencing a voice that had galvanized millions and enraged just as many. The shot didn’t just kill a man; it ignited a cultural explosion, with shockwaves ripping through social media, newsrooms, and creative industries. At the epicenter of this chaos stood Gretchen Felker-Martin, a trans horror writer whose unapologetic reaction to Kirk’s death cost her a dream gig with DC Comics—and sparked a debate that’s still burning.
The night was ordinary until it wasn’t. Kirk was in Orem, Utah, on his “American Comeback Tour,” rallying a crowd of young conservatives with his signature blend of sharp wit and polarizing takes. He was answering questions, likely jabbing at “woke” culture or Biden’s legacy, when the crack of a rifle echoed from the Losee Center’s rooftop. Kirk collapsed, blood staining the stage. The crowd screamed, some rushing to help, others fleeing in panic. By dawn, Robinson was in custody, his motives a murky mix of online radicalization and personal grudges. Shell casings engraved with bizarre internet slang like “notices bulges OwO what’s this?” hinted at a mind steeped in digital subcultures. Robinson’s family tipped off police after he casually mentioned Kirk’s event over dinner days earlier, a chilling detail that underscored the randomness of the act.
America mourned—and raged. Kirk wasn’t just a pundit; he was a movement. At 18, he’d launched Turning Point USA with a modest $30,000, turning it into a conservative powerhouse that bused students to Trump rallies, sued colleges for “bias,” and racked up 1.5 million podcast downloads a month. To his fans, he was a patriot fighting cultural decay. To critics, he was a provocateur, peddling fear with anti-trans rhetoric and school board battles. President Trump, fresh off his second inauguration, called it a “gut punch to our nation,” crediting Kirk’s youth outreach for his own electoral wins. Vigils sprouted everywhere—Utah’s candlelit memorials, NFL stadiums pausing for silence, even a Kennedy Center crowd singing “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus” in eerie unison.
But the internet told a darker story. As news of Kirk’s death spread, some didn’t grieve—they celebrated. Social media platforms like Bluesky lit up with gallows humor: “Thoughts and prayers you Nazi bitch,” one user posted. Another quipped, “Hope the bullet’s okay after hitting Kirk.” These weren’t just trolls; they were teachers, pilots, even a Marine. The backlash was swift. Far-right influencers like Laura Loomer and Chaya Raichik weaponized screenshots, doxxing posters with ruthless precision. An anonymous site, “Expose Charlie’s Murderers,” amassed 30,000 tips, vowing to ruin lives. By week’s end, over a dozen people—professors, firefighters, Pentagon staff—were fired or suspended. Republican lawmakers like Sen. Marsha Blackburn demanded accountability, while Rep. Clay Higgins pushed for lifetime social media bans. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth grounded American Airlines pilots caught joking about the tragedy.
Gretchen Felker-Martin, a rising star in horror fiction, became the poster child for this purge. At 38, she’d earned acclaim for her debut novel Maniac, a raw, queer-infused tale of rage and survival. Critics dubbed her the “horror it girl,” and her DC Comics gig writing Red Hood—a Batman spinoff reimagining Jason Todd in a gritty, noir-drenched world—was a career peak. The first issue dropped on September 10, the same day Kirk was shot, weaving a tale of murder and redemption that now feels like a grim prophecy. Felker-Martin’s Bluesky posts that night were unfiltered fury. “Thoughts and prayers you Nazi bitch,” she wrote, echoing Kirk’s own barbs against trans rights—he’d once called gender-affirming care “child mutilation.” Another post: “Hope the bullet’s okay after touching Charlie Kirk.” Her feed, a mix of leftist passion and comic fan art, initially drew cheers from peers. Then the mob came.
By morning, X was a warzone. Conservative accounts blasted her words, tagging DC Comics and Warner Bros. The publisher acted fast. At 10:30 p.m. ET, Editor-in-Chief Marie Javins called Felker-Martin: Red Hood was done. “The story’s release went from a win to something we can’t stand behind,” Javins said. DC’s statement was blunt: “Posts promoting hostility or violence don’t align with our values.” The series, set for October and November issues, was axed. Felker-Martin’s Bluesky account? Suspended. Her career seemed to teeter on the edge.
Most would’ve backpedaled. Not her. In a searing interview with The Comics Journal two days later, Felker-Martin leaned in. “I’ve listened to Charlie Kirk being an overt Nazi for years,” she said, her voice calm but razor-sharp. “I had no regrets for what I said.” She described the call from Javins, the gut-punch of losing Red Hood—a project she’d poured heart into alongside artist Jacoby Salcedo and colorist Mike Spicer. “I think I did a damn good job,” she said of the comic. But the cancellation didn’t break her. “I don’t want to work for anyone who thinks people like Kirk deserve respect,” she told the outlet. Tor Books, her prose publisher, stayed silent, but indie presses are circling, eyeing her next move—a body-horror novella tackling trans erasure.
Her defiance split the internet. Conservatives cheered DC’s swift action, framing it as a reckoning for “woke” hypocrisy. “Celebrate a death, lose your future,” Laura Loomer posted on X, racking up millions of views. Elon Musk, speaking at a London rally, called the left “the party of murder,” tying Kirk’s death to broader culture wars. On Fox News, pundits like Brian Kilmeade faced scrutiny for their own past quips, but the narrative held: no mercy for those dancing on Kirk’s grave.
The left, meanwhile, cried foul. WIRED called it “artistic censorship,” noting how a South Park episode mocking Kirk was pulled from syndication. MSNBC’s Matthew Dowd was sacked for milder comments, fueling accusations of selective outrage—Kirk himself had laughed off the Paul Pelosi attack in 2022. For Felker-Martin, it was personal. Kirk’s Turning Point had bankrolled anti-LGBTQ+ causes, from bathroom bans to school board takeovers. Her posts weren’t just rage; they were a middle finger to a man who’d targeted her existence. “This isn’t about one tweet,” she told The Comics Journal. “It’s about who gets to speak and who gets erased.”
Kirk’s death exposed America’s fault lines. He wasn’t just a talking head; he was a machine, turning college kids into MAGA foot soldiers. His debates—sharp, memeable—made him a hero to some, a villain to others. Robinson’s motives remain unclear—no manifesto, just cryptic online trails and a family’s betrayal. Was it political? Personal? The right blames “radical left rhetoric,” echoing Trump’s claim that Democrats “call us Nazis.” The Atlantic warned of escalating polarization; NBC feared more violence.
For Felker-Martin, the fallout is a creative purgatory. Red Hood’s debut issue sits in comic shop bins, a collector’s relic. She’s weighing Substack, fielding indie offers. “Writing’s my shield,” she says. Her stand has sparked a movement—comics Twitter hums with #Uncancellable, led by creators like Drew Harrison, fired from Sucker Punch for a Mario-themed quip. Conventions buzz: Will DC blackball her? Or will she rise, unshackled, in indie spaces?
As September 15, 2025, unfolds, Kirk’s vigils grow—thousands singing hymns, a nation grieving a symbol. But Felker-Martin’s story cuts deeper. In a world where words can end careers or lives, her refusal to bow raises a question: Who’s the villain? The sniper, the poster, or the system amplifying them? Kirk’s death didn’t bridge divides—it carved them deeper. And in the chaos, Gretchen Felker-Martin’s voice rings out, unyielding, daring us to listen.
