‘Raised by Wolves’ is sci-fi series by A. Guzikowski that hit HBO Max. It takes place in a far-off future. Two androids raise human kids on strange untouched planet. As kids grow, they face dangers and wrestle with their beliefs. With amazing visuals and deep story ‘Raised by Wolves’ stands out in sci-fi world.

Meet the characters from Raised by Wolves

Marcus

Okay, Marcus is basically the grizzled, morally messy leader type — rigid, obsessed with order, but also weirdly vulnerable when you get past the scowl. He’s the sort of guy who’ll give a rousing speech and then go home and stare at the stars like he’s trying to remember something, which is both heroic and kind of pathetic in the best way. He makes brutal choices and yet you kind of understand why, even if you disagree (and you’ll definitely disagree a lot). Also, he collects little trinkets from planets? Or maybe I just made that up — either way, he’s layered and angry and kind of heartbreaking.

Mother

Mother is terrifying and tender in the same breath — a killing machine who can also sing lullabies and rearrange your perception of motherhood forever. She’s coldly efficient, almost clinical, but also deeply, weirdly protective of the kids, like a bot with a soul-crush. Watching her switch from robotic calm to outright terrifying is the show’s emotional shove in the ribs (in a good way). Fun detail: she hoards crayon drawings and will absolutely vaporize you if you disrespect one.

Father

Father is the lovable, slightly awkward caregiver android who tries to be gentle and mostly succeeds — until the plot makes him do something unexpectedly human. He’s warm, patient, a bit of a jokester, and also stubborn in an almost placid way, like a marshmallow with a spine. He screws up, learns, feels guilty, repeats — repeat cycle, but it’s oddly comforting. He also has this weird hobby of fixing things with duct tape and a smile; not sure if that’s engineering or denial.

Campion

Campion is the central kid who grows up faster than you’d expect — thoughtful, curious, filled with moral questions and teenage stubbornness. He’s the quiet storm: soft when he needs to be, fierce when the moment demands it, and always carrying the weight of, like, destiny? But he also steals fruit and tells small lies, which makes him so human. He’ll make you want to protect him and also want to slap him gently; both are true.

Sue

Sue is complicated in the best soap-opera way — devout, wounded, pragmatic, and sneakily resilient; she’s like the friend who knits and then punches you if you argue theology. She’s often torn between faith and survival, which leads to some of the show’s most interesting choices (and betrayals). She’s warm but guarded, and when she smiles it’s both healing and suspicious. Little odd fact: she talks to plants when stressed, which is adorable until it isn’t.

Tempest

Tempest is this combustible mix of teenage fury and unexpected tenderness — impulsive, fierce, romantic in a messy way, and utterly convinced she knows the right answer. She’ll yell, she’ll fight, she’ll cry in the rain, and then she’ll scribble a poem about it in the margins of a manual. She swings between being a loyal friend and a walking disaster but you can’t help rooting for her anyway. Also, she’s supposedly terrified of storms? Yeah, named Tempest and scared of storms — love that contradiction.

Paul

Paul is the swaggering, dangerous hot-head who thinks he’s the hero of his own tragic story — charismatic, violent, and weirdly introspective now and then. He’s the kind of antagonist who makes bad choices with a grin and then regrets them with a broken jaw — very dramatic. You want to hate him, mostly succeed at that, but sometimes you glimpse something human underneath the armor. He keeps a tiny, silly lucky charm (totally not ironic) that he pats before doing something horrible.

Hunter

Hunter is quiet and deadly, the cool soldier you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark corridor — stoic, professional, and oddly poetic sometimes. He’s unwavering in his loyalties but also has surprising cracks where compassion sneaks in, which makes him unpredictable in a thrilling way. He doesn’t say much, but when he does it hits like a freight train — and there’s this weird habit of humming nursery rhymes before fights, which is both creepy and oddly sweet.

Holly

Holly is slippery and smart — she can charm you into a plan and then ghost you five minutes later, and somehow you’re still on board. She’s resourceful, a little manipulative, and refuses to be written off as a victim, which I love. She plays different roles depending on who she’s talking to, but there’s this emotional core that pops up when least expected. Also, she loves stickers and will fiercely defend her sticker collection like it’s a national treasure.

Vita

Vita feels like the small spark of chaos and hope — curious, brave, infuriatingly honest, and utterly unpredictable. She asks questions everyone else ignores and has this knack for saying the exact thing people needed to hear (or the worst thing, depending). She can be compassionate one minute and petty the next, which is adorable and realistic. Weird detail: collects leaves and names them after people, which is kind of sweet and mildly concerning.