About “Angels of Death: Satsuriku no Tenshi” in a few words:

Angels of Death: Satsuriku no Tenshi is a 2018 anime adaptation of a horror adventure video game by Hoshikuzu KRNKRN. The series follows Rachel Gardner, a young girl who wakes up in a strange building with no memories of how she got there. She meets Zack, a serial killer who promises to help her escape in exchange for her assistance in finding a way out. As they progress through the building, they encounter other dangerous characters and confront their own personal demons. The series is known for its intense and suspenseful atmosphere, as well as its unique characters and storytelling.

Meet the characters from Angels of Death: Satsuriku no Tenshi

Rachel Gardner

Okay, Rachel is this tiny, impossibly calm hurricane of a girl — quiet, pale, obsessed with one big weird goal and somehow so steady it’s unnerving. She speaks like she’s already made up her mind about everything (which she probably has), but she’ll also pause and look at a flower for five minutes like she’s never seen one before — soft little contradictions, right? There’s a tenderness under the deadpan; she notices small things and keeps lists or sketches in a notebook (maybe, I’m pretty sure she had a notebook?), and she can be both childlike and terrifyingly resolute in the same breath. Honestly, she’s the kind of character you want to sit next to during a storm and also not make eye contact with when she decides something important.

Isaac Foster

Zack (Isaac) is the chaotic physical punchline you can’t stop watching — big, brutal, covered in bandages, wielding a chainsaw like it’s his whole personality, but also kind of a goofball in an oddly sincere way. He says huge, blunt things, loves to call people names that stick, and is ridiculously loyal (protective to the point of obsession — in a good way? maybe terrifyingly good). He’s equal parts terrifying and tragic; he’ll gut a room and then offer you candy, or hum a lullaby, or rage about something tiny, who knows. Also he probably likes old cartoons and has a soft spot for stuffed animals he definitely won’t admit to.

Daniel Dickens

Daniel is the theatrical, unsettling joker type who smiles like he’s hiding a dozen knives — sarcastic, performative, and wildly unhinged but with this weirdly articulate streak. He’ll make a joke in the middle of chaos and you’ll laugh and then be terrified two seconds later when he does the unthinkable — charmingly monstrous, if that makes sense. He seems obsessed with playing roles and testing boundaries, like he’s always putting on a show (but sometimes the show isn’t even for anyone else, it’s just for him). He probably collects tiny masks or has a favorite fedora? (Okay that might be me projecting, but it fits.)

Edward Mason

Edward gives off this stiff, procedural energy — calm, cold, maybe a little smug, like someone who always carries a clipboard and knows exactly how the parts fit together. He’s the kind of guy who ruins your plan with a perfectly timed observation and then explains why it’s inevitable, which is infuriating and impressive at once. Underneath the suit-and-rationality veneer there’s a hint of melancholy or boredom, like he’s doing experiments to feel anything at all. Also he drinks tea with too little sugar and has impeccable posture — or he slouches dramatically on purpose, I can’t decide.

Catherine Ward

Catherine is simultaneously the most unnerving nurse/hostess-y presence and also the kind of person who hums while arranging things neatly — she loves order but in the loveliest sort of sinister way. She’s warm in public, precise in her cruelty, and has a habit of calling people pet names that sound sweet until you remember what she does. There’s a maternal vibe tangled with manipulation — like someone who bakes cookies and then files your teeth as a hobby; oddly domestic but absolutely off. Also she probably has an apron with a stain she can’t explain, or maybe she’s fastidious and the apron is perfectly clean — both, honestly.

Abraham Gray

Abraham is this looming, bureaucratic sort of presence — big-picture, pragmatic, the kind of man who runs a room with a single tired look and a pile of rules. He’s rigid and grim, maybe a little haunted by past choices, but he’s also the one who will calmly say the cruelest thing like it’s an administrative note and you’ll shiver. There’s a layer of regret under the stern exterior, like he knows the cost but keeps going because what else is there? He probably keeps a key chain with a few real keys and one mysterious fake one (symbolic or just lazy? take your pick).