The conspiracies appeared more convincing than the truth. Reality seemed far too pedestrian for the outlaw immortal. No conventional weapon could kill 2Pac. The Quad Studios shooting already proved that. Besides, everyone said that Suge’s BMW was bulletproof. And even if it could be pierced, 2Pac wouldn’t get caught without a bulletproof vest. How else could you explain why no arrests were made, considering the hundreds of eyewitnesses? And why was there no state funeral, no body lying in the Capitol rotunda or at the 50-yard line of the Memorial Coliseum? Where were the hundreds of thousands flying in from all over the world to pay their final respects to hip-hop’s most Christ-like figure—if Christ had traded turn-the-other-cheek for “plan, plot, strategize, and bomb first”?
Everyone who attended college in the 2000s knew someone who swore that 2Pac was still alive. Their eyes may have been permanently bloodshot and they may have attempted to aggressively sell you on Aqua Teen Hunger Force, but points were made. Occasionally, the believers were far removed from tin foil stoners, Art Bell aficionados or Behold a Pale Horse evangelists. They’d direct you to a lucidly argued Angelfire URL or maybe a members.tripod.com/~2Pac page that catalogued all the missing tattoos from the supposedly leaked autopsy photos. Where was the “Outlaw” on his left forearm? Or the portrait of Nefertiti on his right chest—the words “2.Die.4” scripted just underneath? They’d point to how the lighting and skin tone were subtly off. Or indict the “corpse” itself: slightly too intact for a man shot four times, two of them said to have ripped through his torso.
The rumors began immediately after his cremation. And the evidence was embedded into the music. Listen to his verse on Richie Rich’s “N----s Done Changed” that dropped in November ’96, just two months after Vegas: “I’ve been shot and murdered, can tell you how it happened word for word.” Dismiss all the skeptics who told you that he said “can’t.”
That same month, Death Row released the Makaveli album, the Book of Revelation for 2Pac Truthers. Its very title, The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory, was interpreted as numerological proof of life—a declaration of illuminati slaughter right in the name. Shot September 7 and dead seven days later? (Give or take) Time of death was 4:03 p.m.—four plus zero plus three. Twenty-five years old—two plus five. You think that’s a coincidence? And on the cover, Pac crucified, waiting to be resurrected just like another goateed religious deity with six-pack abs. In the liner notes, the message practically winked at fans: “Exit 2Pac, Enter Makaveli.”
