🚨 Tyler Robinson’s Secret Lover Knew the Plan to Assassinate Charlie Kirk – Leaked Texts Reveal a Chilling Betrayal 🚨
Deep in Discord shadows, a trans partner hears whispers of “engraving bullets for fascists” – months before the shot that felled Kirk mid-gun debate. Now, Lance Twiggs, fully cooperating with the FBI, spills everything: Late-night rants about Kirk’s “hate machine” poisoning trans lives, but did Twiggs ignore the red flags or egg it on? From conservative kid to killer, this insider’s silence (or complicity?) adds a twisted layer to America’s rage-fueled fracture. Shocking, heartbreaking, and screaming cover-up.
Did the lover know more than they’re saying? Sound off below – and get the full leak with texts, timelines, and FBI insights here
It started with a casual scroll through Discord, the kind of late-night rabbit hole that sucks in 22-year-olds dodging the weight of the world. Tyler Robinson, fresh out of a family dinner in St. George, Utah – the kind where roast chicken and small talk about Kirk’s upcoming UVU gig masked a brewing storm – fired off a message that should have set off alarms. “If we don’t stop guys like Kirk, who will?” he typed, avatar a black bloc silhouette, timestamped September 9, 2025. On the other end: Lance Twiggs, 24, his roommate and romantic partner, a trans woman navigating hormone therapy and a graphic design gig in the shadow of Zion’s red rocks. Twiggs, eyes bleary from a shift at a local print shop, replied with a heart emoji and “You’re right, babe. He’s poison.” No follow-up. No “Wait, what do you mean?” Just a pivot to Netflix suggestions and goodnight kisses through the thin apartment wall.
That exchange, leaked in court docs on September 16 and splashed across Fox News by morning, has twisted the Charlie Kirk saga into something even uglier: Not just a lone wolf’s snap, but a shared secret festering in plain sight. Twiggs – born Landon, out since 2022, pronouns she/her – wasn’t just a bystander. FBI agents, swarming the beige duplex off Bluff Street, hauled her in for questioning hours after Robinson’s arrest on September 12. “Extremely cooperative,” one fed whispered to reporters, off-record but on-brand for Kash Patel’s no-BS bureau. Twiggs handed over phones, laptops, even a dog-eared journal scribbled with “Ty’s fire” next to doodles of fists raised against rainbows. But did she know? Really know? The texts scream yes; her denials whisper maybe. And in a nation already clawing at political throats, this trans twist has lit a match under the powder keg.
Rewind to that fatal afternoon, September 10, in Orem’s sun-baked quad. Charlie Kirk, 31, buzzcut sharp as his tweets, was owning the stage – 3,000 kids hanging on his “American Comeback” riffs, hats flying like confetti. Mid-Q&A, a heckler lobs: “Gun deaths – counting gangs or nah?” Kirk fires back, mic hot: “We clash ideas, not bullets.” Irony bit hard when the .308 round from a rooftop 125 meters out pierced his neck. He dropped, blood blooming on his Oxford, screams drowning the chaos. Erika Kirk, his bride of three years, watched from the wings, her world fracturing in slow-mo. By Phoenix sunset, Air Force Two ferried a flag-draped box home. Trump, voice thunder on Fox: “Left-wing terror. We’ll hunt ’em to hell.” Vigils bloomed – MAGA hats piled like cairns outside Turning Point HQ, 500K tuning into Erika’s tear-streaked YouTube vow: “Martyr’s crown. We fight on.”
The manhunt? 33 hours of drones, tips, and national freakout. Misinfo flew – a Canadian banker doxxed, AI bots claiming Kirk faked it for votes. Then, the break: Not forensics, but family. A relative, gut-punched by Robinson’s dinner-table brag – “Kirk’s hate ends soon” – tips a friend, who dials the sheriff. Dawn raid at an I-15 Exxon: Backpack with burners, fake IDs, and a smirk that cracked under orange jumpsuit lights. Robinson, valedictorian stock from a red-diaper clan (Dad’s a contractor, Mom’s church bake-sale queen), lawyered up fast. No confession, but the rifle – .308 Remington, towel-wrapped DNA hit – and engraved casings (“Hey fascist! Catch!” “Bella ciao, ciao”) screamed manifesto. Discord logs, subpoenaed and scorching: Weeks of “fascist enablers” rants, avatar swaps to Antifa ghosts. Patel, FBI boss, crowed on Hannity: “Admitted post-shot. Obsession pure.”
But Twiggs? She’s the ghost in the machine. Court affidavits paint a portrait: Shared lease since January, grocery runs to Smith’s for almond milk and ground turkey, movie nights with The Matrix rewatches – Neo’s red pill mirroring Twiggs’ own transition. Robinson, straight-A kid turned electrical apprentice at Dixie Tech, met her at a USU gaming club in ’21 – Halo marathons turning to heart-to-hearts over Kirk clips. “He poisons kids like us,” Robinson vented in a February log, post-Kirk’s viral “safe spaces are cages” takedown. Twiggs: “Then fight back. Words first.” But by July, words sharpened: “Bullets for the machine.” Twiggs hearts it, adds a knife emoji. August: “Engraving practice tonight?” Robinson: “For you, yeah.” Twiggs: “Love you. Be safe.”
FBI’s September 13 sweep netted it all – phones yielding 200+ threads, journals with “Ty + L forever” hearts next to bullet sketches. Twiggs, grilled in a sterile Salt Lake interview room, teared up: “I thought it was talk. Hyperbole. Like my rants about TERFs.” No charges yet – “No idea,” she insisted, per sources – but Patel’s team digs: Did she spot the rifle buy? (Legal in Utah, no flags.) Hear the rooftop dry-runs? Affidavit notes a September 8 text: “UVU tomorrow. History ends.” Twiggs: “Proud of you?” Ambiguous as hell. Now, she’s the star witness, holed up in witness protection-lite, her print shop job on ice. X erupts: #TransTwist at 3M views, Groypers crowing “Kirk’s hate boomeranged,” lefties decrying smears. Montel Williams, on a podcast ramble: “Kid rebelling against folks by dating trans, then snaps for love.” Stretch? Yeah. But Twiggs’ silence pre-arrest – no 911, no tip – stings.
Robinson’s world? Crumbled. St. George whispers: The “considerate kid” who aced ACTs (99th percentile, Mom’s Facebook brag), played Minecraft till dawn, now orange-mugged in Utah County Jail. Family? Shattered – Dad’s Trump signs yanked, Mom’s bake sales boycotted. Gov. Cox, bipartisan balm: “Radicalized quick. Leftist turn clashed with roots.” No party affiliation, no votes cast, but Discord screams blue: “Replacement theory’s real – Kirk’s the face.” Roomie Twiggs, per leaks, fueled it – shared Guardian clips on gender wars, Kirk’s “poison” echoing in pillow talk. Yet she claims blind: “Ty spiraled alone. I begged therapy.” FBI psych eval pending; Robinson’s “uncooperative,” mum in court September 17, facing death row nods from prosecutors.
Erika Kirk? Steel amid grief. September 14 YouTube: “Not hate’s win – love’s call.” Turning Point tours roll, guest-hosted by Vance, Shapiro. But the lover angle? It humanizes the horror – two kids, one transitioning, one cracking, in a state where 70% back conversion bans. Twiggs’ transition? Rocky – HRT funded by gig economy, family frosty. Robinson’s shield? Or trigger? Al Jazeera op-ed: “Motive’s mirror – Kirk’s rhetoric radicalized the radicalized.” Patel pushes back: “Online poison, period.” Leaks hint manifesto scraps: “For Lance’s future, Kirk’s ends.”
Zoom out: America’s fault lines quake. Kirk’s death – ironic, gun-talk fatal – reignites NRA wars (Utah’s lax buys enabled the rifle). Trans rights? Spiked 20% in searches, GLAAD reports, Twiggs’ face anonymized but weaponized. Families splinter: Twiggs’ kin, silent in Boise, field hate mail. Robinson’s? Therapy circles, Cox mediating. X threads dissect: @UFOofInterest (wait, wrong beat) – nah, @CrimeWatchDaily: “Lover knew? Accomplice?” 500K likes. Wise heads like Jeff Wise (aviation scribe, pivoted to true crime) podcast: “Echo chambers kill – lit rally.”
For Twiggs, it’s limbo – cooperating for closure, haunted by “what if.” A September 15 affidavit text: Robinson post-shot: “Did it for us.” Her reply: “WTF Ty? Call me.” Too late. Now, she journals alone, sketches rainbows over craters. Robinson? Solitary, staring at bars, Garfield avatar a joke turned tombstone. Erika? Vows legacy: “Debate, don’t destroy.” But as Patel’s probe hunts accomplices (chats with 20+ Discord ghosts), one wonders: Knew? Helped? Or just loved a monster in making?
The quad tapes flutter, mountains mock. Twiggs’ secret? Not malice, maybe – but silence as sin. In St. George’s glow, where faith meets fracture, this person’s knowledge isn’t plot; it’s the quiet that kills. And damn, if it doesn’t demand we listen closer, before the next whisper turns shot.
