What really counted was the possibility of escape, a leap of freedom, out of the implacable ritual, a wild run for it that would give whatever chance for hope there was. Of course, hope meant being cut down on some street corner, as you ran like mad, by a random bullet. But when I really thought it through, nothing was going to allow me such a luxury. Everything was against it; I would just be caught up in the machinery again.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 812 | 2017-02-04 16:15:32 | 99.76 | 97% |
| 237 | 2017-01-25 01:57:27 | 80.26 | 87% |
| 110 | 2017-01-23 12:55:55 | 85.09 | 92% |