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Another Version

Max awoke to the sensation of his oxygen being cut off. His eyes flickered opened to see someone's knee across his windpipe and he felt a gun barrel pressed against his temple. He knew that this day was bound to happen, since his senses kept on getting whacked after each shift. 
"Hi Max," the chirpy fellow said. "Remember me?" The one with the advantage was dressed in an orange shirt that declared him to be property of a jail somewhere. 
Images flashed through his mind like a slideshow downloaded by Microware. Still no recognition came to him. 
"C'mon Max," the fellow said, sounding dejected now. "After all we've been through, I'm hurt!" 
As the knee let up from Max's windpipe he garbled, "I'm not the version of Max that you know."