My dating profile from the old RogueSwipe app when I was single
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User: CrimsonRuin
Old enough to know the rules, young enough to rewrite them in blood. 5’11” barefoot, 6’2” in working heels that have stepped over more bodies than most people have exes.
I’ve emptied vaults without raising my pulse. My private artifact collection outvalues small nations’ GDPs. I can waltz like a dream, hot-wire anything with an engine or an ego, and quote Baudelaire’s sweetest venom while my garrote sings its quiet lullaby.
A noted academic psychologist once described me as “sociopathic grandiosity with terrible taste." in a peer reviewed paper he published shortly before he mysteriously disappeared.
Seeking a co-conspirator who doesn’t blink at “controlled implosion,” can trade war-crime anecdotes over high tea without flinching, and won’t dial 911 in a sudden outburst of flaccid morality. Extra points if you’re lethally competent, good with a blade, and tie a perfect Windsor while plotting.
I offer the alluring insanity of a redhead turned up to 11, superscience access, immunity to regret, smoldering eye contact that collapses empires, and after-heist celebrations.
Ideal date: cocktails in the rooftop restaurant of the corpo tower we just looted, a black-market auction, stealing something irreplaceable purely for the poetry of it, then 4 a.m. room service laughing at the befuddled DEI hire officials on the news.
If you crave predictable, stable, or round-the-clock emotional labor, I’m the wrong kind of villain for you.
But if you’ve ever gazed across a sleeping skyline and felt the wind whisper, "You could just… take it all" then encrypt me a DM.
I might even let you hold the detonator. 💋