Severance is a wild mix of psychological comedy and thriller. A team at Lumen Industries goes on a team-building retreat. Sounds fun, right? But wait, they realize they are not alone. Surreal moments and laughs abound, mixed with some corporate horror and paranoia. It’s a ride you won’t forget!

Meet the characters from Severance

Mark Scout

Mark is the quietly frantic center of the whole mess — worn like an old coat that still somehow fits, even if the sleeves are on backwards sometimes. He’s the kind of guy who overthinks meetings and under-sleeps, carrying grief like a mutated accessory (also, he might hoard pens for reasons he can’t fully explain). Super responsible and stubbornly moral, but also the type to snap at a stapler and then apologize to it five minutes later, so yeah, complicated. He leads with a tired optimism that makes you want to follow him, even when he’s clearly lost and muttering about blueprints. There’s this thing where he tries to be in control and then breaks down over a song — emotional plot twist, always.

Helly

Helly is volcanic energy packed into an aggressively tasteful wardrobe, she storms a room like it owes her rent and then cries in the bathroom because she’s human (shocking, I know). She’s furious at the system, literally can’t contain the “get me out” scream, but also weirdly tender when she’s not trying to punch a ceiling — so yes, contradictions are her aesthetic. Raw, brave, impulsive, but with a soft spot for tiny acts of kindness (like sharing gum or stealing a pen back for someone). She’s the person you’d want on a subway at 2 a.m. — fights anyone who deserves it, and will also offer you a snack from her pocket. Her anger is a superpower and a burn wound at the same time.

Irving

Irving is the ritual guy, a walking, breathing catalog of routines and little etiquettes — he names his pens, maybe, and definitely has a chair he only sits in on Tuesdays. He’s painfully polite and oddly meticulous about paperwork (and also prone to getting oddly emotional about old radio jingles, don’t ask why — he’d probably blush if you did). Stoic on the surface but made of layered anxieties, he clings to order like a life raft, which is both admirable and tiny-sad. He’s the character who will insist on doing things “the correct way” and then reveal a soft, baffling hobby like knitting tiny hats for no reason. You end up trusting him because his rituals feel like a promise, even if the promise is to bring you labeled snacks.

Dylan

Dylan is the charming underdog who seems like he’s always half-asleep and fully plotting something harmlessly chaotic — skateboard in the office? yes, probably. He has this low-key humor and a weirdly profound way of dropping one-liners that hit you later, like a slow-acting meme, and he’s suspiciously loyal even when he’s goofing off. Loves music, maybe eats cereal at odd hours, and seems both scared and excited about big moves (which makes him endearing and slightly reckless). He’s the kind of person who will build a friendship out of sarcasm and share your fries without asking. Also, occasionally unexpectedly philosophical, which is confusing but lovely.

Milchick

Mr. Milchick is corporate charm with a simmering edge — smooth as cream but somehow threatening, like comfort dipped in barbed wire. He plays HR like a performance art piece, smiling while he rearranges your boundaries, very into appearances and little grooming rituals (he might keep nail clippers in the desk, who knows). He’s officious, slightly theatrical, and you never quite trust that grin — the kind of guy who uses passive voice to control a room. Equally petty and sophisticated, he loves order but flirts with chaos if it proves a point. He’s unsettlingly precise and also, weirdly, believes in small talk as a weapon.

Harmony Cobel

Harmony Cobel is icy, impeccably dressed, and has that corporate fairy-tale villain vibe — you want to hate her but you also study how she ties her scarf because it’s shockingly elegant. She runs the show with a smile that’s been practiced in a thousand reflections; charismatic, terrifyingly competent, and absolutely unbothered by human mess (except for how inconvenient it can be for her schedule). She’s both a strategist and a performance artist of control, loves order like a pet, and will reorganize your life with an encouraging laugh. Delightfully ruthless, she can make a policy sound like poetry and a firing sound like a favor. Also, she probably keeps a perfect bonsai and whispers apologies to it on Mondays — murderously calm and strangely tender in tiny, inconsistent bursts.