The Death of the Imposter.

The city streets were quiet as he walked alone at night, still haunted by the events of the past. Everywhere he went, people mistook him for the man he was not, and he knew there would be no escape from this cursed doppelganger's existence.

A shadowy figure began following him as he wandered aimlessly through the dark alleys. At first, he thought it was just a trick of the mind, but the footsteps grew louder. Suddenly, a hand clamped over his mouth from behind, dragging him into the darkness.

"I know who you are," a gruff voice hissed in his ear. It was one of Uthaman's former accomplices. "The boss has been looking for you."

Terrified, he struggled to break free, but the man's grip was like iron. He was thrown to the ground in a remote corner, and two other hooded figures emerged from the shadows.

A knife glinted sinisterly in the moonlight as it was pulled from its sheath. He scrambled backward in panic, his heart racing. Was this the end? Would anyone ever know the truth of his real identity?

As the first assailant lunged forward with the blade, he gripped a loose stone and swung it with all his might. There was a sickening crunch, and the man collapsed, dead.

Adrenaline took over, and he fought like a wild animal to survive. But the odds were against him, and in the chaos, he did not know whether the blows landing were from his own hands or those of his attackers.

When the dust settled, all three forms lay motionless on the ground. But was his chest still rising? Had he also been fatally wounded in the melee?

His vision started to blur as blood spilled from his torn body. The last thing he saw before darkness took him was a rat scuttling towards the carnage, drawn by the scent of death. Only the grave would know whether he was Vishwanathan or Uthaman.