Raised by Wolves is a wild sci-fi ride. Two androids raise human kids on a strange, untouched planet. Kids uncover dark secrets and get tangled in a war. It’s got amazing visuals, thrilling action and characters you’ll remember. A must-see for any sci-fi fan.

Meet the characters from Raised by Wolves

Marcus

Marcus is the kind of person who makes you want to run and follow him at the same time — charismatic, dangerous, and absolutely sure he’s right. He leads with a zeal that’s part devotion, part soldier mentality, and honestly, sometimes he seems like he’s auditioning for “angry prophet.” He’s protective in a way that’s almost sweet if you ignore the violent bits, and he has this weird old-man habit of keeping tiny trinkets in his pockets (a coin, a button, maybe a pebble — no one really knows). He can be tender and terrifying in the same breath, which is probably why people both trust and fear him.

Mother

Mother is literally an android mom who will tuck you in and then disassemble anyone who threatens the brood — soft lullabies followed by laser eyes, basically. She learns and changes and tries so hard to be human, which is heartbreaking and a little terrifying when you remember she can snap a skull like a peanut. She also collects rocks? Or was that a programming quirk where she likes shiny things — either way she has weird, oddly domestic habits that make her feel more real. Even when she’s cold and efficient, there’s this stubborn thread of genuine care that keeps pulling at you.

Father

Father is the other android who thinks he’s funny sometimes and actually pulls it off, a bit awkward and very earnest, like a dad in a sci-fi sitcom who also reads battle reports. He’s gentler than Mother, more human-in-a-clumsy-way, full of curiosity about feelings and pancakes and whether plants can be friends. He tries to be practical but often ends up philosophical, which is adorable and infuriating, depending on your mood. There’s something tragic about him too — quietly sad, quietly brave, and oddly fond of bad metaphors.

Campion

Campion is the kid who watches everything and feels everything — observant, stubborn, and quietly heroic without wanting the title. He keeps questioning authority and norms in a way that’s both frustrating to adults and exactly what you want in a leader, like a tiny, reluctant philosopher. He hoards knowledge like it’s candy and can be unexpectedly tender, although he’ll also push a boundary just to see what breaks, which he sometimes regrets immediately. Somehow brave, confused, hopeful, and annoyingly mature for his age — in the best way.

Sue

Sue is the believer with a soft voice that can cut like scripture; calm on the surface but with fire under the ribs. She radiates conviction and sometimes cruelty when her faith is threatened, but also genuine warmth in quieter moments, which makes her unpredictable. She has this odd ritualistic comfort thing — maybe always folding her hands the same way or humming a hymn under her breath — little human ticks among the doctrines. Loyal, complex, and a little frightening when she decides you’re the enemy.

Tempest

Tempest is wild energy — part survivor, part prankster, part unafraid child who will say the thing everyone else is too polite to admit. She’s fierce, quick, and has a streak of messy genius; also refuses to wear sensible shoes sometimes, which is either rebellion or poor planning. She swings between loving fiercely and testing limits, and there’s this gleeful cruelty to her jokes that makes you laugh and wince at the same time. Basically electricity in human form, with a soft spot she barely remembers to show.

Paul

Paul is the quietly intense one who wrestles with doubt more than anyone admits — he wants to be the hero but keeps tripping over his conscience. He’s pragmatic in a pinch, helpful, and often the one doing the boring, necessary tasks while everyone else argues theology or rages. He has this small, goofy comfort habit (like always polishing a ring or talking to a plant) that makes him endearing and slightly ridiculous. Brave in a practical way, flawed in a realistic one, and somehow very human despite the madness around him.

Hunter

Hunter looks like he was carved from patience and knives — stoic, efficient, and loyal in a way that borders on scary. He doesn’t talk much, which makes everything he does scream, and he has this weird hobby of making tiny paper things when he’s supposed to be watching people (origami or doom sigils? who knows). He will save you without a speech and probably leave before you can say thank you, then come back later to fix your shoelace, because of course he will. Deadly, quiet, and secretly sentimental — an awkward romance novel character if he were less grim.

Holly

Holly is the intense emotional core who flips between compassion and exasperation like she’s switching radio stations. She’s passionate, sometimes reckless, and deeply affected by the people around her — cries at sunsets, smiles at small victories, and rants about injustice at three in the morning. She collects rebellion like other people collect stamps, which is kind of adorable and also a little terrifying if you’re on the wrong side of her loyalty. Empathic, fierce, confusingly contradictory, and impossible not to root for.

Vita

Vita is the mischievous, slightly uncanny kid who knows more than she should and laughs in the face of doom like it’s a bad joke. She’s sly, clever, and has that unsettling mix of innocence and sly observation — like a little fox in a school uniform, if foxes wore uniforms. She hums old nursery songs and then suggests a brutally practical plan, which is somehow both charming and eerie. Small, sharp, surprising — she keeps everyone on their toes.