Vision

As the theme music fades out - first shot is of a pair of battered old work boots suddenly obscured by a close-up of a heavily laden dustbin thump down onto the road. A voice out of shot chastises Terry for his momentary laxness: "Oi, Badge, get a moov on, mate." Pan up to Terry, his face hidden by his mop of long shaggy hair and the upturned collar of his worn denim jacket as he attempts to tap the keys of his palmtop computer with one hand and shift a large rubbish bin with the other - trying to juggle his two day jobs of dustman and software developer which allow him the means to buy the free time he craves. The time to sit on his boat in peace, his keen mind completely ensconced in the rarefied world of higher mathematics, have a nice sit down, a cup of tea and an orange 'Viscount' biscuit.

We follow Terry back to his boat, moored on a quiet island in the Thames by Hampton Court in the south west of London. It's still early - a summer morning and, as he trudges back, clusters of pointy-headed BUSINESSmen dart about, on their way to do BUSINESS in big banks. As Terry arrives, his dog Gizmo hears him and, with a joyful bark, leaps over the side of the boat to greet him. As Gizmo bounds over the threshold of the boat's rails, it automatically activates his electro-collar and, with a loud yelp, the little mutt drops to the ground, involuntarily defecating with unwholesome spasms and smoking slightly.

"Ah Gizmo, you never learn, do you," Terry chuckles to himself as a stunned Gizmo zig-zags his way back to within his electronically delineated boundary of the boat's gunwales.

Terry settles himself down in the galley, placing a battered old copper kettle on the stove and taking out an orange 'Viscount' biscuit from a scruffy wooden cupboard which is completely full of packets of orange 'Viscount' biscuits and nothing else. He takes off the bright foil wrapper, tosses it out the galley window where it lands in the river and is immediately pecked up by a large swan covered in oil, and pours himself some tea. Gizmo scuttles over to his food bowl and starts munching on some broken up 'Viscount' biscuits. As Terry sips his tea, he wanders over to his workbench, which is covered in various mechanical parts and tools, and whips off the dust cover of Mark.

At this stage, Mark is merely a skeletal torso with only one arm and a head casing partially covered in stretched monkey-skin with one camera lens eye and one dark, dissected gorilla eye. Activated by the incident light, Mark judders falteringly into life, servomotors whirring. The noise alerts Gizmo who gives a low, suspicious growl.

"Morning, Mark," Terry says cheerfully, putting down his mug of tea to make some fine adjustments to Mark's wiring.

"Cunk cunk cunk.. de... deactivate me... whirr... free me, free me!" Mark replies in metallic, mournful tones and then stops altogether, slumping back down in silence.

Terry makes a couple more adjustments then violently pumps a large lever by the side of the workbench. There is a loud bang from Mark's innards, the gorilla eye explodes and the single arm falls off. Cursing, Terry starts to reattach it when his attention is diverted by the barking of Gizmo at the approaching sound of short, sharp footsteps. Gizmo excitedly scrambles up the wooden steps of the galley onto the deck. Terry smiles knowingly to himself, revealing that the sound of those measured clipped steps are familiar to him. He slowly shakes his head with a rueful laugh as the footsteps stop and are punctuated by a female gasp of shock and a loud canine whine as Gizmo's collar kicks in and the involuntary defecation begins again.

"Badge, I got your monkey parts, just like you wanted," comes the authoritative but mellifluous voice of Eleanor Tight as her shapely legs teeter down the steep galley steps.

Dressed incongruously in a dark short-skirted suit and heels, she hands over a large black plastic bag to Terry. He thrusts his hand inside, pulling out a smaller transparent bag of what looks like offal and puts it into the fridge alongside other similar bags, bottles of milk and more packets of 'Viscount' biscuits and throws the black bin bag out the galley window. Terry then mutters something to himself about Mark needing new eyes before taking a chilled biscuit from the fridge and offering it to Eleanor with a cheery "Viscount?" She takes the biscuit and crams it in her mouth in one go, without taking a bite, throwing the discarded orange foil wrapper out the window to where the oily swan, now entangled in the black bin bag, pecks it up.

"Terry, we've got something for you. Something strange. Something that might need those higher-order Bessel functions again."

Terry turns sharply to her, jabbing forward an accusatory finger. "Listen, Eleanor - I told you before - I'm not touching Bessel functions again - not since those complex Hankel derivatives and the Stepney stabbings. No more, Eleanor - I'm done with all that." Angrily, he turns back to the copper kettle as it boils.

"Cup of tea?" he offers.

Eleanor accepts the proffered mug and quaffs the contents down in one, also taking another 'Viscount' and cramming it in at the same time.

"Listen, Badge," she replies with an angry hiss, bits of chocolate coating and crumbs flying out the sides of her mouth, "you want your primate pieces - you help us out here." She puts down the empty mug. "So how is..." she pauses, "Mark these days, anyway?"

Terry's shoulders slump and he shrinks visibly in shame. "Mark is almost finished, Eleanor. He's almost free."

The embarrassed silence is broken by the ringing of Eleanor's mobile 'phone. She breaks her gaze from Terry and answers it.

"Tight here. Yeah. I'm on it." She hangs up, puts the 'phone away, then hands Terry an envelope, addressing him in a softer tone. "Look Terry, just take a look. Tell me what you think, okay?"

She rises to leave. Terry takes the envelope, crumpling it tensely in his hand, still staring at the floor. "No more Bessel functions," he whispers.

At the top of the galley steps, Eleanor pauses. "One more thing, Terry. This involves Barry. Barry Vadge."

Terry's jaw tightens and he clamps shut his eyes in apparent pain, crunching the envelope into a tight ball as the sound of Eleanor's sharp steps echo from the deck onto the quayside, followed by a startled cry and loud thud as she slips in the viscous remains of Gizmo's previous convulsions.

As Terry slowly opens his eyes, a single tear falls and the camera zooms in to the crumpled envelope in his hand as the sound of Gizmo's curious paws are heard scrambling up the steps, followed by a loud electric crackling buzz, a yelp and a further dismayed shriek from Eleanor.

It's the start of another Terry Badge adventure!