Severance is a wild ride on Apple TV+. It centers on employees at a quirky tech company. They dig into secrets about their boss and weird happenings at work. With a fantastic cast, it keeps you guessing. Plot thickens, suspense builds. You won’t want to blink. Trust me, it’s worth it!

Meet the characters from Severance

Mark Scout

Mark is the kind of quiet center you can’t help watching — resigned and terribly, stubbornly determined. He’s the protagonist we follow into the weird, clinical maze of Lumon, balancing grief and an almost obsessive need for order. Officially composed (or he tries to be) but you can tell he’s simmering with questions and a guilt that eats him at night. He’s organized — lists, memorized routes, that weird habit of labeling things — yet there’s this scrappy, anxious sensitivity under the suit. Also he hums old songs sometimes when he’s nervous, which is oddly sweet and makes him less of a cypher and more of a real, messed-up person.

Helly

Helly bursts into scenes like a grenade of feeling — furious, blunt, and relentless about not being erased. She refuses to be small and screams at the world (and at Lumon) with this combustible mix of anger and intelligence. She remembers enough to hate the lie, but not always enough to craft a plan, which makes her both terrifying and heartbreaking. She’s impulsive — doodling faces on napkins, hoarding snacks, flipping off security — but also capable of weird tenderness when she trusts someone (rare, but it’s there). Sometimes she’s contradictory — suddenly playful, then crushingly serious — and that volatility is exactly what makes her feel alive.

Irving

Irving is the ceremonious one with the soft voice and the trust-in-routine thing turned to an art form. He lives for rituals — folding napkins a certain way, talking about “the old days” like they’re holy — and there’s a heartbreaking nostalgia about him. Polite to a fault and oddly cheerful even when things are strange, but don’t be fooled, there’s a steel under the smile. He can be maddeningly literal (oh, the rules) and then unexpectedly tender, like he keeps tiny ornaments or notes from another life in a shoebox. He’s both comforting and a little eerie; you want to hug him and also ask him very serious questions about Lumon’s filing system.

Dylan

Dylan is the scrappy joker who masks everything with sarcasm and pop-culture quips, and I love him for it. He’s restless, clever, the kind of guy who rigs up playlists, secret notes, and probably knows every shortcut in the building. He acts like nothing phases him but you can see the wounds — a slouch, a sideways grin that doesn’t meet his eyes — and it is quietly devastating. Loyal in a messy way, prone to half-baked schemes and midnight conspiracies, he remembers tiny details that save everyone later. Also, he collects concert stubs and swears he hates mushrooms but will absentmindedly eat them when nervous; small contradictions, you know?

Milchick

Milchick is the officious, smile-too-wide HR guy who treats human misery like a compliance checklist and it’s terrifying. Bureaucratic to the bone — forms, friendly reminders, that papery kindness that peels away fast — he’s the guy who makes policy feel like a weapon. There’s a juvenile, almost theatrical streak in him — like a game-show host who’s read a lot of law — and that makes his nastier moves feel even colder. He insists on being reasonable while doing unreasonable things, and he keeps weird little mementos on his desk (stress balls? a tiny trophy?) which is both funny and gross. You sort of want to understand him, but mostly you want to punch the smugness out of him — in a very cathartic, fanfic-y way.

Harmony Cobel

Harmony is the picture of corporate calm — polished, precise, and terrifyingly efficient — like a metronome wearing a suit. She runs things with a politely cruel intelligence, slicing decisions down to tidy little outcomes and smiling while she does it. There are tiny cracks though: a flash of loneliness, a clipped joke that lands wrong, something human buried under layers of PR training and armor. She’s a classic cold antagonist but not cartoonishly evil — she truly believes in the system and that makes her dangerous in a very plausible way. Weird little detail: she probably alphabetizes her spices at home and yet keeps a faded comic book under her bed, because dissociation is a thing, right?