Cam is watching a new recording of Atriama, tail swishing in the gap in his couch, and doesn't stop to pause the show when he feels a summons go by.
It wouldn't prove that she trusts me to do it, or that she trusts my judgment on what sacrifices are worth what. But getting that specific would."
"Paranoia. He knew exactly how dangerous artificial intelligence could be, and put in the kind of rules that sound like sensible precautions without five minutes' thought."
"It's not immediately time-sensitive, except in the sense that she should be free as soon as possible. Thank you."
Well, the immediate aftermath is over. Capes have been dispersing to their assorted continents for a while now. He's undeniably entitled to a nap if he wants one.
There's an inexplicable lack of further large-scale emergencies happening right away, so he's going to be uninterrupted.
He wakes up twenty minutes later and downs an espresso and has a look at what-all has come up.
In twenty minutes, not much. The process of shipping combatants back to their starting continents is continuing. They've sounded the all clear so the first civilian responders have started arriving, both to supplement the already present volunteers and to take over guarding the wall.
Cam looks up what if any provisions there are to arrange that the people inside the perimeter of the wall can, say, eat. Presumably they'll have to be cut off from the city water supply and so on, so that's a problem too.
There is no rule against supplying the inhabitants with more than necessities, as long as it doesn't enable communication, but if Cam chooses to then it would be a very bad idea to let anything they say or do causally influence him.
...It seems weird not to cut them off from the water supply, but maybe nobody has ever actually been able to figure out how to poison the source from the pipe end. Anyway. Cam doesn't need to get close enough to hear them to drop them food and - and books and anime and so on. He'll talk to the local government about coordinating that so they don't wind up with more rice than they can use or something.
The Japanese government in particular hasn't had to run a Simurgh quarantine before, but the general situation is a known problem. There are treaties about it, and some oversight by international experts with the world's most depressing job.
Right then. He gets on that. He feels better after his nap, better enough that it's definitely an improvement to have something productive to do.
The Tokyo quarantine zone isn't the three hundred foot high wall of paranoia that they have in Madison. Here it mostly just has to keep in humans. And the occupants are still in the immediate aftermath like everyone else; they'll probably settle into some kind of postapocalyptic society relatively soon. In the meantime, having large airdropped crates of food and media won't hurt anything.
And when he has airdropped enough things he goes back to his other work.
He gets a call from the Minister in charge of Trying To Make Japan Suck Less After The Endbringer Attack, or whatever the official title was, a politician whose job recently became important again.
When he answers, "Firstly, thank you for everything you've done. But, do you know about how the Endbringers choose targets?"
"No, no one does. The leading theory, which this one supports, is that their attacks are sometimes designed to interfere with people who could otherwise improve the world the most."
"If you're talking about me, I turned out to be immune to the song in the way I'm immune to most things or I would have flown away as soon as I could."