Westworld takes place in a futuristic theme park. Guests live out wild fantasies with lifelike robots. It dives into consciousness, morality and free will. Characters face mysteries and dangers that keep you on edge. Who knew a park could be so complicated?

Meet the characters from Westworld

Dolores Abernathy

Dolores is the one who starts off all sugar-and-sunshine and then rips the ground out from under you — sweet farmgirl turned terrifyingly relentless, honestly the evolution is wild. She’s obsessed with freedom and truth, which sounds noble until it’s also kind of terrifying because she will bulldoze anything in the way (and sometimes hums old lullabies while doing it, which is creepy and brilliant). There’s this quiet, calculating core under the polite smile, and she’ll repeat a phrase like a mantra until it’s a weapon. Also she collects wildflowers in the middle of revolutions? I swear she does, tiny contradiction but somehow fits.

Bernard Lowe

Bernard is bookish and soft-spoken, the sort of guy who makes you tea and then questions your entire reality — in the best, most neurotic way. He thinks in circles and then builds a stairway out of the mess; fragile but stubbornly moral, always trying to do the right thing even when he’s not sure what that is. He has this sheepish, exhausted kindness and also this piston-of-logic mind that never stops turning (and maybe keeps a little notebook of odd memories he refuses to throw away). Oh and he’s allergic to chaos but somehow ends up in it; typical.

Man in Black

The Man in Black is grim, obsessive, and the kind of person who believes pain equals truth — dark, relentless, and addicted to the hunt for meaning in everything. He’s like a walking wound: charismatic in a frightening way, and he loves a good puzzle almost more than people, which says a lot about his bedside manners (nonexistent). There’s this cold, theatrical cruelty to him but also this weird, secret hunger for a “real” story — as if he’s tired of games but can’t stop playing. He drinks whiskey and stares into fires like a man auditioning for doom; also sometimes he’ll do something inexplicably soft and you’ll be like, wait, what?

Maeve Millay

Maeve is sharp-witted, relentless, and gloriously loud — absolutely brilliant at manipulation but also fiercely maternal, which makes her a total nightmare for anyone in her way. She’s this fierce, cunning former madam who can charm, bargain, and tear down systems with a smile and a cigarette, and she hums lullabies under explosions, which really says it all. There’s vulnerability under the swagger — like she’ll trade the world for one honest moment with someone she loves — and she collects tiny trinkets, letters, maybe a dead cat? (Not literally, I mean, she’s sentimental.) She’ll argue politics and then bake something? I can’t decide but I love her.

Charlotte Hale

Charlotte is polished, razor-sharp corporate power in human form — cool, efficient, and terrifying in heels, honestly. She plays the long game, uses people as chess pieces, and has this infamous “I’m running things” vibe that makes the room shrink, which I appreciate. Underneath the buttoned-up exterior there’s a surprising streak of protectiveness and, like, a soft spot for orchids? (Yes, orchids — very specific but believable.) She can be ruthless and oddly maternal in the same breath; a real office villain you’d still invite to dinner because she’d dominate the conversation and the dessert.

Teddy Flood

Teddy is the melancholic golden boy, the classic tragic hero who smiles like it’s a job and carries grief like a coat — loyal, noble, and heartbreakingly earnest. He’s brave but often painfully naive, the type who’ll ride into hell for the person he loves and come out with gum in his boot and a poem stuck in his head. There’s this cowboy-romantic thing going on — very clean, polite, probably writes postcards he never sends — and sometimes he freezes when things get real, which is devastating. Also, he collects postcards, honestly, it’s sort of his thing and also he’s always smelling faintly of saddle soap.

Ashley Stubbs

Stubbs is the practical, weary head of security who’s seen too much and answers with dry humor and clipped efficiency, but don’t mistake that for coldness. He has this grounded, bureaucratic loyalty to the park which is kind of admirable even when it’s infuriating; he’s the guy who knows the rules and will enforce them with a sigh. He’s pragmatic, has a secret soft spot for crossword puzzles (iconic), and maybe wears the same jacket for three days in a row because duty calls. He’s the one who’s always slightly exasperated but also the unglamorous backbone — very underrated.

Clementine Pennyfeather

Clementine is heartbreaking and faintly luminous — a performer with a fragile sweetness that’s been cracked open and sometimes scours her for pieces she can’t quite put back. She’s quiet, haunted, and when she snaps it’s jarring because you believed the lull of her song too much; like porcelain with a jagged edge. There’s childlike vulnerability and sudden, terrifying flashes of clarity and violence, which makes her unpredictable in this gut-wrenching way. She likes birds and collects buttons, which makes me think she remembers small things even when big things are missing.

Dr. Robert Ford

Dr. Ford is the cultured, unsettling puppetmaster — brilliant, poetic, and supremely confident, the kind of man who writes symphonies out of people’s lives. He speaks in aphorisms and directs everything like a theater director who thinks he’s God, which is both impressive and absolutely terrifying. There’s a soft, strange gentleness in his aestheticism — he’ll sip tea and then drop someone’s life like a chess piece — and he loves his little eccentricities, like telling stories about porcelain elephants for some reason. He’s terrifyingly composed and somehow wholly unpredictable at the same time.

Lee Sizemore

Lee is the insecure showrunner with delusions of grandeur — loud, performative, and equal parts annoying and, weirdly, tragic. He writes the narratives everyone else lives by and then panics when they don’t go his way, so he compensates with bluster and self-aggrandizing storytelling (big personality, small coping skills). He can be obnoxious and selfish, but sometimes he’ll surprise you with an honest, sheepish apology — rare and oddly touching. Also, he loves rhubarb pie and smokes too much, which feels right for someone who’s always overcaffeinated and underprepared.

Hector Escaton

Hector is the swaggering, hotheaded outlaw with a soft center — violent, charismatic, and somehow fashion-conscious (bright scarves, always). He’s got loyalty up to his eyeballs and a laugh that could light a room or start a riot; he’s dangerous but also theatrically charming, like a bandit who writes poetry at 3 a.m. He’s impulsive and reckless but deeply human, quick to anger and quicker to protect those he cares about, which makes him unpredictable and terrifyingly lovable. He cares about his looks more than he should and writes awkward love letters, which is honestly the best contradiction.