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 |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1943 | 2017-03-25 10:14:33 | 155.21 | 97% |
| 1787 | 2017-03-12 00:59:00 | 167.26 | 97% |
| 1131 | 2017-02-07 01:31:47 | 146.30 | 97% |