FADING AGENCY

When a burly detective inherits his ill father’s failing PI agency, he charges ahead, determined to help the local working class community by solving their mysteries. But as his body begins to betray him after a recent Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis, he must reconcile what his personal value is to those around him.

About

Set in the fictional working-class town of Trentstone in the midlands, FADING AGENCY is a procedural drama where the usual high-tech equipment is swapped for archaic technology and where sleek laboratories give way to the dingy, family cottage of Nels and Joanna Harper - siblings stuck together trying to save their father’s business before he passes.

Together, Nels and Joanna face daunting odds: the agency is barely scraping by and without high-tech surveillance or lab access, they have to rely on old-school methods to help the local community.

Complicating things, Nels’ recent MS diagnosis sees him face unpredictability in his strength and mobility, forcing him to adapt and work around his new limits. The agency’s success hinges on every case they solve. If they don’t survive, they’ll lose the agency to a competitor who is trying to force a takeover due to a long standing grudge against the family. The constant cycle of earning to pay bills and navigate a convoluted health system makes every victory vital.

But over time, Nels and Joanna will learn that their background grants them access to places and people their fancy competitors can’t blend into. Together, they can delve into the subcultures and cases that no-one else investigates. As the story unfolds, Nels and Joanna’s ability to turn their working-class identity into a strength allows them to thrive where others falter.

Teaser

EXT. TERRACED HOUSES – NIGHT

A long road lined with patchwork houses — a relic of a town that once thrived with industry. In the distance, across rolling hills, specks of light flicker in the night.

NELSON "NELS" HARPER (40s), muscular, with a chiselled jaw and a 5 o'clock shadow, SPRINTS down the street.

BREATHING heavy, boots STOMPING, eyes fixed ahead.

EXT. KEBAB TAKEAWAY - NIGHT

The yellow glow of a kebab takeaway. STRAGGLERS linger inside, waiting for food, trying to stand upright.

Nels slows... peering inside the windows, catching his breath. He spots his target. He shoves open the door -

INT. KEBAB TAKEAWAY - CONTINUOUS

As he grabs a styrofoam box off the counter, BOBBY WHITBY (20s), gaunt, wrapped in layers of battered clothing, turns to the opening door

- Nels. He stands, chest out, glaring at Whitby.

NELS HARPER

Come quietly, Whitby. I'll even let

you bring your chips.

Recognising Nels, knowing he's here for him, Whitby GROANS -

WHITBY

Think I'll pass, mate.

Nels marches towards him, SLAPS the box away - cheesy chips splattering against the wall.

Whitby has no time to protest as Nels lunges --a tree trunk of an arm reaching to grab him --Whitby ducks, darts under the swinging limb --bolts out the door!

EXT. BACKSTREET - NIGHT

Whitby sprints, arms pumping. He vaults over a brick wall.

Nels follows after, clearing the wall in a fluid motion.

EXT. GARDENS - NIGHT

Closing the gap between them, Nels chases Whitby through gardens --under a washing line strung with damp clothes --past a broken trampoline --around a BARKING DOG.

Whitby clambers over a high fence, lands on the other side, gaining distance as Nels struggles to lift his weight up.

Whitby turns, SMACKS the fence!

WHITBY

For a big bastard, you’re slow as shit!

Whitby kicks open a side gate, sprinting into the -

EXT. HIGH STREET - NIGHT

The town stretches out around Whitby, shuttered shops with graffiti, an overflowing bin, flickering street lamps.

INT. ABANDONED FACTORY - NIGHT

Nels cuts through the remnants of a factory floor, leaping over piles of debris, dodging metal, monstrous machines.

MARTY, a homeless man wrapped up in a sleeping bag, waves!

MARTY

Oh hey!

NELS HARPER

Can't stop, Marty. Sorry.

MARTY

All good. Go get 'em.

EXT. OLD TRAIN YARD – NIGHT

Overgrown weeds cling to broken tracks. Abandoned carriages sit like tombstones, rusty and forgotten.

Nels barrels through the darkness --WHITBY ahead of him, leaner, faster --slipping between train cars like a rat.

Whitby spins... scrambling to find his pursuer in the night.

WHITBY

Just fuck off, will you?

Nels LUNGES out the darkness! WHAM!

Whitby twists at the last second --driving an elbow into Nels’ ribs --Nels staggers but doesn’t go down. He can't.

They crash into the gravel --rolling, fists flying. Whitby lands a hit to Nels’ jaw, enough to make his vision blur.

But Nels is bigger, stronger. He wrestles Whitby onto his back --planting a knee into his chest. Whitby wriggles, but Nels holds firm.

Whitby grins, his teeth bloody.

WHITBY (CONT'D)

You're slowing. Just like your old

man did.

Nels presses down with a grimace. Whitby WHEEZES, COUGHS.

Approaching POLICE SIRENS bleed through the air. Pinning Whitby down, Nels stares into the night, jaw tightening.

NELS HARPER (V.O.)

And then I said 'Sounds like your

ride's here'.

INT. ARNOLD'S BEDROOM, COTTAGE - DAY

Nels kneels on an ottoman, recreating the story.

In a bed, hooked up to medical equipment, lies ARNOLD HARPER (70s), a withered man who's only strong muscles are those he uses to frown disapprovingly.

ARNOLD HARPER

Were you raised in a barn?

NELS HARPER

(surprised-)

Dad? I got Whitby. Your white

whale! He's in custody.

Arnold raises his eyebrows - so?

ARNOLD HARPER

I would have got him myself.

Nels takes in the frail man, the monitors, the drips.

He awkwardly steps down from the ottoman. Nods.