Agent Chase J‘s DiaryNov 25th, 2025 | 03:07 | Vienna

The night air still hums with the echo of gunfire—sharp, fleeting, but the scent lingers like a shadow. Just 40 minutes ago, I took the shot from the rooftop, my custom Walther PPK steady in hand. The recoil kissed my palm, and in that split second, the air erupted with gunpowder’s acrid bite—earthy, sulfurous, sharp enough to cut through the Vienna night’s crisp chill.

It mingled with the cold metallic tang of the barrel, polished steel warmed only by my grip, a faint mineral edge that clung to my fingers. Oddly, it didn’t clash with my scent—bergamot and vetiver base, now layered with the raw, unapologetic aroma of action. The gunpowder wasn’t harsh, not like brute force—it was precise, intentional, like the shot itself.

I wiped the barrel with a soft silk handkerchief (smooth enough to avoid scratching the steel) and tucked the gun back into my tailored coat. The scent stuck to the fabric: gunpowder, metal, a hint of aged leather from my holster. It’s a fragrance of purpose—elegance tempered by grit, the mark of a gentleman who doesn’t shy from getting his hands dirty (but always cleans them with style).

Safe house is quiet. The scent’s fading slowly, replaced by the distant smell of coffee from a nearby café. But I can still taste it on my tongue, sharp and alive. Note to self: This blend—bergamot, vetiver, gunpowder, metal—might be my new mission signature. It’s not pretty, but it’s honest. And in this line of work, honesty (and a well-placed shot) is all you need.

Goodnight, Vienna. Until the next scent of danger.