Banshee dives into life of Lucas Hood, a master thief turned sheriff in small town. His past? Not so pretty. Crime, drugs and chaos lurk around every corner. Town’s dark side unfolds as Hood grapples with old enemies. With gripping story and talented cast, Banshee is a must-see for crime fans. Don’t miss it!

Meet the characters from Banshee

Lucas Hood

Okay, Lucas Hood is the guy who walks into a bar like he owns it and also forgot where he parked his car — charmingly exhausted, basically a walking plot twist. He’s this ex-con-turned-sheriff who has the exact blend of moral mess and stubborn heroism that makes you want to throw things at him and hug him at the same time. Constantly juggling a violent past, strange loyalties, and a soft spot for the town’s weirdos, he’s the kind of leader who will shoot first, apologize later (maybe over coffee?). Also, he’s inexplicably into poetry sometimes? No, wait, that was a dream I had — still, he does have a weird fondness for kids’ cartoons.

Carrie Hopewell

Carrie (aka Anastasia) is the cold-eyed con artist with a mother’s heart and a wardrobe that says “don’t mess,” even if she’d secretly mess you up in a heartbeat. She’s layered — brilliant at manipulation but tattooed with genuine guilt and an almost painfully real desire to protect her family. Sharp, meticulous, and capable of both tenderness and surgical cruelty, Carrie keeps a list of contingencies and also cries at bad rom-coms, true fact (or maybe I made that up, but it feels right). She’s the kind of person who will plan a heist while folding a baby’s onesie — professional multitasker.

Kai Proctor

Kai Proctor is pure rural royal menace — part crime boss, part patriarch, and somehow also a guy who gives you cookies when he’s about to ruin your life. He rules with a weirdly consistent code: family first, reputation second, actual laws optional, and consequences deliciously specific. One minute he’s suavely terrifying, the next he’s playing with a pocket watch like a Victorian villain who’s also into dirt biking? I swear he has a soft spot for vintage appliances and an irrational hatred of fluorescent lights.

Sugar Bates

Sugar is the grinning, philosophical ex-con who could fix your carburetor and then give a TED talk about fate — greasy hands, gold teeth, and the world’s worst jokes that somehow land. Loyal to a fault, he’s both comic relief and occasional plot grenade; you think he’s harmless and then he’s not, and then you forgive him because he brought snacks. He’s suspiciously wise about people, collects odd trinkets (plastic spoons? old watches?), and somehow always smells faintly of motor oil and orange soda. Don’t underestimate his heart — or his temper, which is surprisingly spring-loaded.

Deputy Brock Lotus

Brock Lotus is the young deputy who looks like a nice small-town cop but is quietly combustible — polite on the surface, absolutely volatile underneath. He tries to play by rules but has this weird hunger for approval that leads him to make some very bad, very committed choices. There’s a nervous energy to him, like a man who alphabetizes his feelings and then sets them on fire, also maybe he alphabetizes his socks, who knows. He’s earnest, messy, and kind of tragic in a way that makes you want to shake him and give him coffee.

Job

Job is the silent mountain of muscle who speaks with his actions — terrifyingly efficient, unfailingly loyal, and oddly tender if you ever get past the scowl. He doesn’t do many words, but when he does, everyone listens (and sometimes flees); otherwise he communicates by being extremely present and occasionally rearranging someone’s face. There’s a late-night softness to him — like he might hum to plants while sharpening knives, or is that me imagining things? He collects tiny things in jars, I think, or maybe that’s another character, but either way, he’s the quiet storm you don’t want overhead.

Deva Hopewell

Deva is all simmering cleverness and simmering resentment, like a kid genius who learned early that the world’s hostile and decided to be twice as complicated as it needs. Artistic, haunted, fiercely independent — and also stubbornly sentimental about weird little necklaces, oh the necklaces — she’s complicated, lovable, and also a little explosive. She can be tender in a blink and vengeful in the next; she’s basically a walking emotional grenade but in her playlist she loves piano covers of pop songs, apparently. She keeps secrets like trophies and has a habit of doodling maps of escape routes, which is both practical and dramatic.

Rebecca Bowman

Rebecca Bowman is mysterious, devout, and absolutely not what she seems (or maybe she is — who can even tell anymore), like an old soul trapped in a very confused body. She carries a kind of quiet intensity that reads as both sanctity and barely contained fury, and she’s dangerous in that soft, simmering way that’s ten times worse than shouting. Sometimes she’s oddly maternal, sometimes eerily distant; she knits, but also whispers threats that stick, which is not a combo you see every day. Also, she probably likes daisies, but then again she might crush them underfoot to make a point.