Tradition and technology rarely make for good bedfellows and despite it's necessity, working for the Yakuza is just as terrible an idea. Sombra hadn't received a terribly warm welcome at the Shimada estate, but between her peerless work and the favor of the younger lord, she was generally left to her own devices. However, at one in the morning, there is very little interaction with the older members of the house.

Keeping such unholy hours allows her to dress as she likes, instead of kowtowing to the sensibilities of a bunch of old fogeys - the only folks around to judge her are the skeleton shift worth of guards, and in her opinion she's a little above their paygrade.

At least, that's the look she's giving the guard eyeing her down while she eats. It might also be the fact of the sweater; backless to let her augments get some sorely needed air and scandalously short, she at least has the good grace to wear it in black.

She winks at the guard who huffs and leaves her, leaning on the island with her reheated bento as she pulls up a vidscreen of a late night variety show.