"Not at all," his posture stiffens, and his mouth curves from the indifferent expression he'd been carefully sporting to one of intense disapproval. "Life is life, and though we are not all granted the best lives, those that we have are our own. The Arena is a prolonged type of execution. In it, we are neither living nor dead. Until, of course, we are dead. In either case, we no longer can be said to belong to ourselves."