Dating App Date Turned Into a 5-Hour Murder Livestream | Mucari Finley Case | HO!!!!

The Swipe That Became a Death Sentence

On a quiet evening in Warren, Michigan, a 29-year-old chef walked into what he believed was a first date.

Five hours later, his body lay on the floor of a stranger’s home, broadcast live on social media for thousands to watch.

The man was Mukari “Mari” Finley—a son, a chef, and the pride of a family whose legacy was built not on notoriety, but on hard work and community. The person who killed him did not attempt to hide what she had done. Instead, she turned the aftermath into content, pressing “Go Live” and narrating her version of events while police surrounded the house.

What the internet consumed as shock footage would become one of the most disturbing intersections of dating-app culture, premeditated violence, and social-media spectacle in recent memory

Who Mukari Finley Really Was

Before the livestream, before the rumors, before the accusations, Mukari Finley was known for one thing: food.

Born and raised in Flint, Michigan, Mukari came from a family that believed in building something lasting. His relatives owned and operated a restaurant that locals didn’t just visit for meals—they visited for connection. Mukari learned early that cooking was not about shortcuts. It was about patience, pride, and care.

By his late twenties, he was a respected chef. Not a social-media personality. Not a headline. A working professional who showed up, improved his craft, and made people feel welcome at the table.

His family would later emphasize this point repeatedly because they would be forced to.

Mukari had:

No criminal record

No history of drug use or dealing

No reputation for violence or instability

Yet within hours of his death, the internet would label him something else entirely—based solely on the words of the person who killed him.

The Match

Like millions of others, Mukari used dating apps.

Friends said he was cautious but open—curious about meeting someone, willing to talk, willing to try. He matched with Dominic Robinson, 30, who sometimes used the name “Nikki Pop.” Robinson identified as a transgender woman and presented herself online using photos that did not reflect her real appearance.

The conversations flowed. They messaged back and forth for a period of time, building familiarity and comfort. There was no indication of hostility, no warning signs that suggested danger.

What Mukari could not see through the screen was grief.

Robinson’s boyfriend had died earlier that year. According to later statements, Robinson had become convinced—without confirmed evidence—that Mukari was somehow responsible for that death. She built a narrative in her mind and treated it as fact.

Mukari, by agreeing to meet in person, unknowingly stepped into that narrative.

The Setup

The address Robinson gave Mukari was her home in Warren.

When Mukari arrived, the person who opened the door did not match the profile photos. That moment—confusion, recalculation—may have been the last clear second he had.

Prosecutors would later state plainly: this was not a spontaneous encounter.

Evidence showed:

Use of misleading profile images

Messages designed to lure Mukari to a private residence

Preparatory actions taken in advance

This was not a date that went wrong.

It was a premeditated ambush.

The Killing

Inside the home, Mukari was attacked.

Investigators would later describe the assault as sustained and deliberate, not the result of a sudden argument or loss of control. Mukari had no meaningful opportunity to escape or defend himself.

When it was over, Robinson did not call for help.

She reached for her phone.

“Go Live”

Robinson opened Facebook and started a livestream.

The camera pointed at Mukari’s body on the floor. Robinson spoke directly to viewers, accusing Mukari of selling drugs to her deceased boyfriend and claiming the killing was justified retaliation.

None of those allegations were confirmed by police.

Not one.

But the damage was immediate.

People watched.
People shared.
People commented.

Mukari’s death became a digital event—consumed in real time, stripped of context, stripped of dignity.

His family did not yet know he was dead.

Five Hours on Camera

Police arrived and surrounded the home.

Instead of surrendering, Robinson continued broadcasting.

For five hours, negotiations unfolded while the livestream remained active. Viewers saw fragments of the standoff, heard Robinson speak, and watched as law enforcement attempted to end the situation peacefully.

For Mukari’s family, the horror was layered.

They were searching for him, calling his phone, tracking his location—unaware that if they clicked the wrong video, they might see his body.

The Internet Writes Its Own Story

While detectives worked the scene, social media did something else.

It picked sides.

Robinson’s claims spread rapidly, unverified and unchecked. Strangers debated Mukari’s worthiness of sympathy based on accusations made by the person who killed him.

This was the second violence.

The first was physical.

The second was reputational.

And it traveled faster.

The Call No Parent Should Receive

Mukari’s family traced his phone location to Warren and contacted police for a welfare check. They were eventually taken into a room and told plainly that their son was dead.

Only later did the pieces connect.

Only later did they realize that during the hours they were searching, the world was watching.

Arrest and First Court Appearance

Robinson was taken into custody after the standoff ended.

She was charged with first-degree premeditated murder. Bond was set at $2 million cash, and a mental-health evaluation was ordered. Robinson pleaded not guilty, despite the livestream, despite the evidence, despite the body shown to thousands.

The legal process began.

The public spectacle did not stop.

A Family Forced to Defend the Dead

Mukari’s family held a press conference at their restaurant in Flint.

They did not do this for attention.

They did it because they had to.

They spoke about who Mukari really was—his work ethic, his kindness, his future. They stated clearly that he was not a drug dealer, not involved in anything illegal, and not the person Robinson described online.

“He was murdered three times,” one family member said.
“Once physically.
Once publicly.
And once through lies.”

What This Case Exposed

Before any verdict, before any sentence, the Mukari Finley case revealed something deeply unsettling:

How easily violence becomes entertainment

How quickly a killer’s narrative can overshadow a victim’s life

How dating-app anonymity and social-media amplification can collide with deadly consequences

Mukari did not consent to being part of a story.

He wanted a date.

(Dating app murder suspect seemed like a ‘dream guy’ at first, ex-girlfriend says)

Premeditation on Display, a Courtroom Reckoning, and the Cost of Turning Murder Into Content

When prosecutors took control of the Mukari Finley case, they were not confronted with a mystery.

They were confronted with a record.

Unlike most homicide investigations—where intent must be inferred from fragments—this case arrived with messages, timestamps, videos, and a five-hour livestream documenting the killer’s state of mind before, during, and after the crime.

The challenge was not proving what happened.

It was proving why—and holding accountable a culture that helped spread the harm.

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The Digital Trail That Proved Intent

Investigators subpoenaed dating-app records, social-media accounts, and device data within hours of the arrest. What they recovered dismantled any claim that the killing was spontaneous.

Messages Before the Meeting

Chats between Mukari Finley and Dominic Robinson showed:

Robinson initiating the meet-up

Robinson insisting the encounter take place at her residence

Robinson reassuring Mukari that the meeting was safe

There was no argument in the messages. No confrontation. No mention of any grievance.

This mattered.

Prosecutors argued that deception was the first act of violence—the use of misleading images and reassurances to draw Mukari into a controlled environment.

Evidence of Fixation

Phone extractions revealed Robinson’s search history and notes in the days leading up to the meeting. Detectives documented repeated references to Mukari’s name, alongside unverified accusations regarding Robinson’s deceased boyfriend.

There was no evidence Mukari knew the boyfriend.
There was no evidence Mukari sold drugs.
There was no evidence connecting him to the prior death in any way.

What existed instead was fixation—a belief constructed internally and reinforced through isolation and online echo chambers.

Prosecutors would later describe this as “a grievance manufactured to justify a pre-decided outcome.”

The Livestream as Evidence—And as Aggravation

The Facebook livestream became central to the case.

Not because it showed violence—police ensured jurors were shielded from unnecessary exposure—but because it captured Robinson’s post-crime behavior.

For five hours, Robinson:

Addressed viewers directly

Repeated accusations against Mukari

Refused to surrender

Positioned herself as morally justified

In Michigan, post-offense conduct can be used to establish intent and lack of remorse. Prosecutors argued that choosing to broadcast rather than seek help demonstrated consciousness of guilt, not panic.

“This was not a breakdown,” the prosecutor told the court.
“This was performance.”

The Standoff and the Surrender

Police negotiators testified that Robinson was coherent and responsive throughout the standoff. She understood instructions. She engaged in conversation. She made demands.

These facts undercut any claim of immediate mental incapacity.

When Robinson finally surrendered, officers reported no confusion about what had occurred. She acknowledged Mukari was dead. She continued to assert her justification.

Charges and Legal Strategy

Robinson was charged with first-degree premeditated murder, a charge requiring proof of planning and intent.

The defense pursued two parallel strategies:

Questioning Robinson’s mental state

Attempting to introduce Mukari’s character into evidence via unverified claims

The court rejected the latter.

Judges ruled that victim-blaming narratives not supported by evidence were inadmissible. Mukari’s lack of a criminal record and absence of corroborating proof rendered the allegations irrelevant.

Mental Health Evaluation: Context, Not Excuse

A court-ordered mental-health evaluation acknowledged Robinson’s grief and emotional distress related to her boyfriend’s death. However, clinicians concluded she was competent to stand trial and understood the wrongfulness of her actions.

The evaluation became context—not a defense.

The law, the court emphasized, does not permit grief to become a license to kill.

The Trial: Facts Over Noise

During trial, prosecutors presented a methodical case:

Dating-app deception

Luring to a private residence

Evidence of fixation and planning

Post-crime livestream behavior

They contrasted that with Mukari Finley’s documented life:

Employment records

Character witnesses

Community ties

Absence of criminal involvement

The jury heard from Mukari’s family, not to inflame emotion, but to restore personhood to a man reduced online to accusations.

“He was not a rumor,” his sister said.
“He was a human being.”

Verdict

After deliberation, the jury returned a verdict of guilty of first-degree murder.

The courtroom was silent.

There was no spectacle this time.

Sentencing: The Judge Addresses the Camera

At sentencing, the judge spoke directly to the role of social media in the crime.

“You did not merely kill,” the judge said to Robinson.
“You attempted to control the narrative of that killing in real time.”

The court imposed a sentence of life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

The livestream—intended to justify—had instead ensured accountability.

The Family’s Aftermath

For Mukari Finley’s family, the verdict did not bring closure.

It brought clarity.

They continued operating their restaurant in Flint, turning it into a space for remembrance rather than retreat. They established a foundation in Mukari’s name focused on digital-safety education and dating-app awareness.

They also pressed platforms to adopt faster shutdown protocols for violent livestreams.

Some changes followed.

Not enough, they say—but more than before.

What the Case Changed

The Mukari Finley case prompted:

Renewed debate over livestream moderation

Calls for dating-app safety reforms

Policy reviews on hostage situations involving active broadcasts

It also forced an uncomfortable question into public discourse:

What happens when murder becomes content?

Final Investigative Conclusion

Mukari Finley did not die because he made a reckless choice.

He died because someone weaponized:

Anonymity

Grief

Technology

And an audience

The livestream did not tell the truth.

The investigation did.

And when the noise faded, what remained was a simple, devastating fact:

A man went on a date.

And the internet watched him die.