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Chicago Rap Massacre: The Hits Behind the Hits, my Theory


There’s no doubt anymore. Wednesday night’s bloodbath outside the Artis Lounge on Chicago Avenue wasn’t random. It was a hit. And the primary target appears to have been Mello Buckzz, real name Melanie Doyle, and her boyfriend Devonte Terrell Williamson, 23, who was among the four killed when gunmen opened fire into a crowd of mostly women.

Eighteen people were shot. Four are dead. But this wasn’t just senseless violence. This was a music industry beef that ended the way too many of them do in blood.

In Chicago’s underground rap scene, egos are bigger than the paychecks, and everyone with a SoundCloud link thinks they’re the next mogul. Look around and you’ll find promoters, producers, and self-declared A&Rs who model themselves after Suge Knight, and not in a good way. They want power. They want control. And sometimes, they want revenge. The rap world has long been haunted by the shadows of men like Suge, think of Irv Gotti, Birdman, Big Meech, and others who blurred the lines between entertainment and street muscle.

Devonte Williamson wasn’t just Doyle’s boyfriend. He was reportedly involved in managing her career and protecting her brand, often clashing with rival players in Chicago’s music scene. That made him a target.

Sources say tensions had been building in the weeks leading up to the shooting. Promoters allegedly feuding over bookings. Beats being jacked without credit. Threats flying in text messages and Instagram DMs. In this world, it doesn’t take much for someone to decide that a rap beef needs to be settled with bullets instead of bars.

This wasn’t spontaneous. It was surgical.

Around 1 a.m., a dark SUV pulled up to the lounge. Shooters opened fire on a crowd gathered outside. Williamson and his close friend were killed instantly. Doyle ducked and survived, but the gunfire made it clear, this was an assassination attempt with a body count.

But the killers didn’t count on the digital noose already closing around them.

That stretch of Chicago Avenue is covered with surveillance cameras, and license plate readers. The vehicle’s identity will be tracked in days, if not hours. Once that happens, it’s over. Cell towers will triangulate phones in the area. GPS data will trace movements before and after the attack. Smartphone apps will betray the shooter’s location even if they think they wiped their devices. Combine that with text messages, social media threats, and call logs, and the entire network behind this hit will be exposed.

This case won’t be solved by confessions. It’ll be solved by data.

Blood was spilled, but there’s a digital trail of everyone who had beef, who made threats, and who pulled the trigger. What’s coming next is a law enforcement masterclass in forensic tech, the kind of operation that doesn’t just catch shooters. It destroys crews.

And when the smoke clears, don’t be surprised when the spotlight lands on a corner of the music industry no one wants to talk about. The one where gangsters wear gold chains and studio passes, where loyalty is rented, and where fame gets you killed faster than the streets ever did.


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