How Loud Can You Yell?

Author's Note: Hello! This is my first story on FF, and I would like to thank everyone for taking the time to read it! Now the idea for the story was created by how curious I was with Jack's wife, who we know next to nothing about. So, I went ahead and built up a character for her, and then after that came a whole story, oops. I would be so thankful if you would take a little time to review and tel me what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not have any rights or clams to the Borderlands franchise, I only own the OC's I have created.

Prologue

She supposed that everyone probably should know the protocol on dying, but she knew it wouldn't have killed somebody to give her a pamphlet or, at least, a 2 minute slideshow.

Although, it wasn't like the woman had anyone to complain to at the moment. She couldn't quite figure out where she was, despite the knowledge of the fact that she was no longer with the living. She was stuck between wanting to call the place a waiting room for Heaven but also knew there was the fact that she could be at Hell's front porch just the same. It was a fifty/fifty chance either way, so the term 'Afterlife' would have to do.

She also thought that whoever changed the light bulbs in the Afterlife fucking sucked at their job, but then again, she guessed she could have just had her eyes closed. However, seeing as the woman couldn't feel anything at all and had no sense of balance (If she was perfectly honest, she didn't know if she was lying down or sitting up, maybe it was a cross between those two), her guesses didn't really count for anything. Maybe this was all an elaborate prank, set to make her freak out or cry, but the feeling in her gut said otherwise. She was no longer alive and she knew it. She supposed she should keep an open mind about her demise, though. Who knows, it might help with her spirit flow or some shit like that.

But for the life of her (Get it? It's funny because she's dead.), the woman could not remember a thing as to the events that lead up to her death or of her life entirely. The only thing she remembered was her name and she supposed that was enough for a decent conversation with an angel or demon, if she ever managed to find another creature in this darkness. Finley; not a terrible one, she mused, could have been worse. She could have been stuck with the name Charlie; so you know, not all bad, she thought.

And it wasn't like she couldn't recall everyday knowledge; just things about her own personal life were fuzzy. She could remember how many planets and solar systems there were, how many corporations there were and how many colors there were. She knew how to count, and knew that if you were to smart mouth a bandit, no matter how idiotic said bandit might be, you would find a bullet with your name on it lodged in your face. She could bring up pictures of sunsets and pink clouds, oceans that stretched so far that you couldn't see the end, trees that grew up to the stars and mountains of sand that towered off the ground. But despite remembering all of these things of the beautiful places she could bring up so clearly in her mind, she could never picture herself in any of them. Somehow, that hurt her.

Seeing as how there was no way of telling the time or finding out, Finley didn't know how long she had been here exactly. She figured it had probably been a while and that if she could make any sounds at all, she'd scream just to give her something to do instead of just floating (At least that's what she thinks she's doing right now) in the black nothingness.

Bored, Finley started to try and figure out how she died, and of course it didn't work but she did find that when she tried too hard to remember, she was left with no memories, an empty feeling and pain. And it wasn't the sissy pain like you got stung by a wasp, but more of the 'oh wow when I think about that it feels like a piano fell on my head and a bandit started playing Sonata No.2 in B flat Minor with said piano' kind of pain. Finley hoped at least she went out with a bang; the more she thought about it (And she had all the time in the world to think), the more she liked the idea of a big dramatic end.

The pain would stop when she stopped trying to remember. It didn't seem very fair, Finley thought bitterly, at the very least she should be granted with the knowledge of how she died, and who the hell she was. Finley could have been a narcissistic, psychopathic murderer for all she knew. She sincerely hoped that wasn't the case.

Seeing as how there wasn't much else to do, she supposed that waiting here wasn't that bad, but she wished that whatever was going on would kindly hurry up and let her be on her way (She didn't even care where she would go at that point, Heaven or Hell, it didn't matter); Finley didn't really fancy being stuck here forever, but more than that, she felt cheated. She didn't understand why she was here and it wasn't fair that she couldn't recall anything of herself. She thought that God and the Devil were being huge douches for holding out on her.

Deciding that she was fed up with the ear shattering silence and the unrelenting boredom, the woman (Now that she thought about it, she wasn't really sure she was a female, it just a feeling that she got. Hell [Get it? That's where she probably is heading next? Man, she was on fire – Ha!], for all she knew, she could have been a skag or a cloud.), pushed aside the horrible piano feeling and started thinking about anything she could, her brain (That is to say if she even had one in her current state – she decided that she would just pretend that she had a body that was just paralyzed a while ago) diving deep trying to grasp on any information that she could find.

Hours seemed to go by as she pushed her mind, but then again, it was hard to have a sense of time when you were floating in an endless abyss. No matter how much Finley tried, nothing would take the bait for her to reel in. She tried it all; thinking, begging, threatening, offering, bartering, and even praying (She didn't know who to, but she knew it wasn't towards the horrible tour guides of Lucifer and God).

Finley had decided to give up; she didn't understand what the point of it was anyways anymore, why would she want to remember people or things that she would never see again? That was when a spark appeared in her brain, a name, and with that tiny spark brought a raging inferno. This one name, simple and plain, made everything stop (Which was really impressive given her certain situation).

Jack.

As the name popped up in her mind, she felt the confusing urge to break down like a little baby. Why was this name important? Why did it affect her like this, why did it make the piano feeling seem like a simple pinch on the leg compared to the pain that came with that name? No, if it was only pain, she could have handled it, but it wasn't just that. There were so many emotions that had appeared along with 'Jack' that she couldn't even begin to explain it.

Finley realized that she didn't plan this out all the way, and it seemed that all her efforts paid off. She wished she just would have waited for those assholes. Names and faces came out of nowhere, associated memories rushing back with them; she felt like crying, laughing, screaming, or really any emotion that she could get out.

Though, her mind always came back to the same name, as if it was the beginning of it all. She just couldn't tell if she hated it or loved it, her feelings were just so haywire at the moment.

Jack.

Just who in the hell was this asshole?