Apollo lifted himself up and sat up on the mattress, reaching over to delicately pluck the syringe from Will's hands and look it over, running his thumb along the shaft and inspecting the misty malaise churning inside it. Now with more of his own power, Apollo could feel out its symptoms the way someone might feel the fabric of a shirt.

"Sinus pressure, draining down the throat into the lungs," he muttered like he was reading a book, "Muscle pain. Lethargy. Hard to tell when it's not infecting a person, but this feels like a flu." He raised the syringe and his fingertips began to glow a golden light. The light flickered across the syringe, dispelling the infused disease.

He handed the purified syringe back to Will. "What were you thinking about when you conjured that? How did it feel?"