If one day, a little meatball under your knife and fork suddenly speaks and begs for its life.
"Please don't eat me, sir! Have mercy, I'm just a child!" it pleads with a naive and tragic tone. "Can you wait until I grow up a bit? I'll turn into a tender and delicious lion's head meatball and make you happy. Or, you can put me in a bathtub, and the meatball soup will prove to be very fresh, I promise!"
"I know you want to eat me, very much indeed, but not today, alright? Please wipe the drool off the corners of your mouth and be patient for a little while longer. You'll get an even better and sweeter version of me. At that point, I'll let you enjoy and ravage me however you see fit, be it braised, fried, or boiled!"
What would you do if faced with such a meatball on your plate?
...
Regardless of your choice, our Barbarian gladiator, fighting for his life in the arena, shows no sign of mercy as he raises his long-handled cleaver once again.
