Xavier
The man beat mercilessly on his victim. Not a twinge of guilt nor any concern for the consequences as he rained blow after blow on the old man's now pulpy, fragile body.
He even raised a small smile as his devastating beating continued, long after the life fell from the elder's wide eyes.
Finally, Xavier grew tired, his huge arms now growing weak from smashing apart the man, and he stood up to observe his work. He nodded to himself, almost in approval and wiped the blood and gore from his hands and arms on his jeans, which were already bloodied from the struggle. He paused to note his deadly work.
In a moment of clarity he looked up at the black, night sky and drew a deep breath.
He and the body were in an alley only roughly quarter of a mile from the city. A 'heated' conversation eventually lead to a (short) fight. Xavier, being the stronger emerging victorous as he always did.
As he turned to leave the stinking alley, Xavier hesitated. He moved back to the body to regard it. He squatted down and reached to prod it with his muscled arms, but thought better of it and stood up again. Usually he would have robbed the body without a thought, but this time there was a definite change.
Of course, Xavier knew what that difference was, but he was surprised at himself for even caring at all. Victims meant nothing to him, women, children, priests; they were all the same to him. And yet..
He took off his blood soaked jacket, revealing his vest underneath, barely covering his gigantic frame and covered the old man in some small respect.
He grinned again at the irony of respect for his own murder victim as he walked to the entrance of the alley, taking one last look at the corpse.
"Sometimes you have to learn not to mess in my business, Dad" He muttered to the body, and with that he vanished, consumed by the ink black of the city night.