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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 13700 | 2018-06-09 01:17:43 | 110.56 | 99% |
| 9820 | 2018-02-10 00:36:45 | 88.82 | 97% |
| 8189 | 2018-01-18 00:19:28 | 84.90 | 97% |
| 6149 | 2018-01-02 19:30:34 | 83.55 | 97% |