Archive 81 is a wild mix of horror and mystery. It follows Dan, an archivist sifting through tapes and papers from an old government site. As he digs deeper, things get creepy. There’s a secret program, a cult and an intriguing woman named Melody Pendras. Storytelling is twisty and sound design pulls you right in. Get ready for a ride!

Meet the characters from Archive 81

John Smith

Okay, John Smith is that person you can’t stop thinking about — quietly competent but with this low-key chaos simmering under the surface. He holds the room like he owns it and then apologizes for being there? Weirdly polite for someone who’s probably broken three very expensive things today. He’s the kind of character who notices tiny details (a bent paperclip, a smell) and later does something dramatic because of them, which is both brilliant and slightly terrifying. Also, he hums to himself sometimes — oddly cheerful — and then swears he never does, so pick one.

Anabelle

Anabelle is soft-edged but stubborn as hell, like a porcelain vase filled with dynamite — very pretty and also definitely going to explode if you push the wrong buttons. She remembers old songs and scraps of conversation and hoards them like treasure; also she eats pickles at midnight, which makes no sense but is adorable. There’s a melancholy about her that’s honest, not manipulative, and she surprises people by being fiercer than she looks. Sometimes she whispers things and then yells them, which makes it hard to know what mood she’s in (and I love that).

Iris Vos

Iris Vos is peak charismatic villain — elegant, cool, a mastermind who wears serenity like armor and is absolutely not to be trusted, ever. She speaks softly and people listen, which is terrifying because you know she’s planning three moves ahead while knitting or whatever small hobby she claims to have. She has this bizarre warmth when she wants to manipulate you, like a smile that’s a well-placed knife, and then she’ll surprise everyone by crying over something tiny and meaningless. Also obsesses over symmetry? No one can confirm, but just look at her desk.

Virgil Davenport

Virgil is the lovable skeptic with messy hair and even messier takeout boxes, the friend you call at 2 a.m. because he’ll actually answer and then make an awkward joke. He’s practical, sarcastic, and somehow emotionally available in ways he’d deny with his whole face, which is cute. He keeps a notebook of bad puns and also probably the single most useful note about the archive tucked inside, go figure. He acts like he’s seen everything and is amused, but you can tell he cares too much — in a low-key, “I’ll fix your Wi‑Fi” way.

Cassandra Wall

Cassandra is all clipped sentences and neat folders and then, out of nowhere, she’ll do something impulsive and you’ll be like, wait, who is this person? She’s the procedural backbone — the person who reads the fine print and is terrifyingly correct about it — but she also has a drawer full of ridiculous souvenirs she refuses to explain. She’s meticulous but not cold, if that makes sense; there’s a loyalty there that sneaks up on people. And she drinks terrible coffee on purpose, like a dare or a ritual, which is both mysterious and oddly charming.

Kaelego

Kaelego is that quietly uncanny presence who knows more than he lets on and smiles like he’s keeping a secret (which he is), and yes, it’s unsettling in the best way. He’s tuned to rhythms and patterns — numbers, sounds, whatever — and will notice the tiny syncopation in a room and point it out like it’s normal, which it is, to him. He’s gentle but weirdly fearless, will pet a stray dog and then get into a nearly impossible argument about cosmology five minutes later. Oh, and he eats oranges with a fork sometimes? Maybe that was a dream I had, who knows.

Samuel

Samuel is the slippery charismatic type who can make you believe almost anything if he leans in and smiles; chilling and magnetic, honestly. He talks softly, which is the worst kind of manipulation because you want to listen, and then you realize you’ve agreed to something very bad but also oddly beautiful. He has this nostalgic way of telling stories, like everything old is sacred, and there’s a childish side that collects tiny figurines — which makes him terrifyingly human. Sometimes he’s tender, sometimes he’s terrifying, sometimes he’s both in the space of one sentence, and you’ll still be rooting for him a little which is the infuriating part.