A/N: I'm almost not sure whether or not to rate this M, but there is no… details. Not really. Anyway, people have been begging me for another chapter and while I was drifting the FF this suddenly came to me.

Thanks to all who reviewed! Hope this keeps up with the last one! If not… I tried. Anyway, tell me what you think- no flames, but remember: there is a nice way to tell people their writing sucks. Pain.

There was something about being a no-name that intrigued some people; it was something that seemed to make him more of a target at times and at others just that much easier to blend in.

It also gave a good enough reason to try and continue his 'No sleeping in beds' rule. Sometimes, though… sometimes, you were fucked.

When G was 12, he lived in a house for a grand total of three days. The closets were stuffed, as were under the beds, and the only good thing about it was that he didn't have to change schools. Their oldest boy came into the room, waking him up by simply opening the door. G sat up, and it almost made the kid go back to his room. Almost.

He was a foot ball player, and he was strong, and… and…

The only thing G remembered about him in his adult life was that he smelled like rubber and cheap soap. If he saw him on the street, he would jump out of his skin. Luckily, the football player was killed by another kid a few years later- one who slept with a box cutter for a reason.

G had been thinking up reasons until he was 16, were he learned that sometimes, they was no reason at all for the things that happens to kids. Sometimes, there is no reason for the foster homes to be worse than war zones- a war zone with a mask, trying to hide the blood and tears that it caused. That was when he started to really think about life after the foster homes, and he knew without a doubt what he was going to do by the time he was 17. He found someone who could give him permission to join the Marines, and saw real war zones- ones that he could live with, ones who should their true faces for the world to see.

When he left the house, he gave his thought on it to his social worker and told her what he always told her about the bad ones- "Don't send anyone else there."

She- and the others before her- had learned not to question it. He gave no details, he gave no why, but you could trust him when it came to the homes. That's what he was good for, and no one really remembered their first no name anyway.

Alright, so, I pretty much kept with the last chapter. In case anyone was wondering why under the beds were full, it's because a little while ago we got boxes that were made to go under the bed. I figured he was scared to touch their stuff and didn't want to get caught moving it, so...

Anyway, tell me what you guys think. I figured it goes with what sometimes happens in homes, and well... yeah.

Again, one of two words will be fine if you don't feel like writing a lot- 'good' or 'sucked'. More words are welcomed!! I love all of the other reviews I've gotten, btw. Sorry if I didn't reply to them, but I wasn't sure myself if I actually would write more for this.

Anyway, best wishes, Pain.