In the indie horror game Lethal Company by Zeekerss which is currently available to download on the Steam Store, players are sent to dangerous moons by a cold, faceless corporation. Their job is to collect scrap, avoid terrifying creatures, and meet an ever-rising quota. If they succeed, they live. If they fail, they die.
But what if this gameplay loop reflects more than corporate satire? What if Lethal Company is an allegory for Remote Viewing, as operated by a hidden demonic intelligence cult? What if the “scrap” is actually fragments of occult knowledge, and the moons are not celestial bodies at all, but broken, vulnerable people?
In this interpretation, the monsters become saints, angels, and priests. The contractors are agents of psychic espionage. The Company is a demonic bureaucracy. And the Girl is not a ghost, but a counterfeit image of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
The Moons Are Bodies
Each moon in the game has its own environment. Some are stormy, others frozen or haunted. Some feel empty, others feel hostile from the start.
But what if the moons are not places at all? What if they are symbols for human beings?
In Catholic mysticism and Christian theology, the human person is often described as a microcosm, a small universe. The mind is an atmosphere, the body a temple, the heart a hidden garden. Saint Teresa of Ávila described the soul as a castle with many rooms. The idea that a person is their own inner world is ancient and sacred.
So when players land on a moon, they are symbolically entering a person. Each mission becomes a spiritual invasion. The goal is not to explore space, but to break into a sacred interior.
Stormy moons represent people tormented by trauma. Frozen moons are cold, hopeless souls. Abandoned and haunted moons are filled with spiritual residue—people who have touched the occult, suffered abuse, or lived in sin.
Scrap Is Occult Knowledge
The players collect items that appear worthless. A toy, a bottle, a mask, a fan. But in this allegory, those are not just objects. They are fragments of hidden spiritual data. They are pieces of occult knowledge, scattered within broken souls.
Each item is symbolic. A burned doll could be the psychic echo of childhood abuse. A strange television might hold the imprint of ritual pornography or dark images. A golden goblet could symbolize a desecrated sacrament, stolen from sacred use and twisted into a symbol of power.
The Company assigns value to these items not because they are valuable physically, but because they carry a kind of esoteric charge. They are pieces of a puzzle. They are memories, traumas, symbols. And demons feed on such things.
Just as secret societies seek out ancient knowledge to build their rituals, the Company uses its agents to extract psychic material from human souls.
The Company as a Demonic Cult
The Company has no face. It speaks only through terminals and short directives. The player interacts with a mechanical beast named Jeb, who accepts scrap and dispenses money. There is no warmth. No explanation. Only the quota.
This is exactly how demons operate. They do not care about names or identity. They care about hierarchy, utility, and extraction.
In real-world occult systems, demons are known to operate within structured ranks. Low-level spirits serve higher ones. The same is true of secret agencies. The CIA’s Remote Viewing projects in the twentieth century involved strict compartmentalization. Viewers were often given coordinates or shapes but no context. They were used.
In this allegory, Remote Viewing is not a psychic gift, but a form of demonic penetration. The agents are not looking at missile silos or enemy generals. They are looking into the minds of human beings, searching for fragments of forbidden knowledge.
Each player in the game becomes a kind of psychic parasite, entering another person and extracting spiritual debris.
And if they fail to deliver enough, they are punished or consumed.
Remote Viewing as Possession
In Christian tradition, only God is omniscient. Any spiritual insight that is not grounded in divine authority is dangerous. This includes psychic seeing.
Remote Viewing, when disconnected from divine grace, becomes a tool of demonic manipulation. The viewer becomes vulnerable. The door opens both ways.
In Lethal Company, the contractors use scanners and motion detectors. These devices symbolize their psychic senses. They are not just moving through rooms. They are probing minds, mapping spiritual interiors.
The ritual is always the same. Enter. Collect. Leave. Do not ask questions.
This is how spiritual theft works. And it always comes with a price.
Monsters as Saints and Angels
In most games, monsters are evil. But what if, in Lethal Company, the monsters are good?
What if they are manifestations of divine presence? What if they are angels, saints, and priests trying to cast out the intruders?
To the players, these beings are terrifying. But that is how demons experience holiness.
The Bracken, which silently stalks its victims, could be a saint in prayer. The Eyeless Dog may represent blind but accurate divine justice. The Thumper might be the hammer of heaven. The creatures are not attacking players out of malice. They are purging the spiritual violation that the players bring.
And that brings us to the Girl.
The Girl as a Twisted Image of Mary
One of the most haunting characters in the game is the Girl. She appears suddenly. She attaches herself to a player. She cannot be stopped. She follows silently. If you ignore her for too long, you die.
She is terrifying. But in this allegory, she is also tragic.
She is a perverse imitation of the Virgin Mary.
Mary, the Mother of God, is always present to those who call on her. She is gentle, silent, and full of grace. Her intercession saves souls from hell. She follows us, comforts us, leads us to her Son.
But the Girl follows not with love, but with death. She is a shadow of the real Mother. She is the memory of Mary twisted by guilt.
To those who have rejected grace, the true Mary becomes unbearable. Even the memory of her feels like condemnation.
This is why the Girl evokes sadness in some players. She is not just a threat. She is a symbol of what was lost. She reminds the soul of what it once had—the maternal presence of heaven.
And now, that presence is only a pale ghost.
Sigurd’s Logs and the Fragmented Soul
The scattered logs of a former worker named Sigurd reveal the true cost of spiritual espionage. He loses his memory. He hears voices. He cannot find peace.
This reflects what happens to those who engage deeply in occult practices or psychic experimentation. The mind begins to fracture. The soul cannot carry the weight of other people’s secrets forever.
Sigurd is the broken agent, the psychic thief who became a victim of the very things he tried to collect.
His end is a warning. You cannot handle sacred things without being changed.
The Golden Planet and the Beast
In one log, Sigurd describes a vision. A Golden Planet. A Beast that devours it. The planet is radiant. Then it is hollow.
This is a symbol of humanity. The Golden Planet is what we were meant to be. The Beast is Lucifer. The Company is its economic machine.
And the players are its servants.
They enter the Golden Planet. They steal its sacred images. They flee with scrap. They feed the Beast.
All the while, they believe they are doing a job.
Zeekerss: The Hidden Architect and the Name of the Seeker
The developer of Lethal Company is known only by the pseudonym Zeekerss—a name with no confirmed face, no public identity, and no overt backstory. This mysterious presence behind such a spiritually charged work raises meaningful questions. In a game obsessed with hidden knowledge, anonymity, and unseen forces pulling strings from above, the developer mirrors the very themes he explores.
Phonetically, “Zeekerss” sounds almost identical to Seekers—those who search for something hidden, often knowledge or power. In mystical traditions, “the seeker” is the archetype of the initiate: someone who wanders into the unknown in pursuit of meaning, truth, or enlightenment. This path is never neutral. One can seek heaven or fall into hell. One can seek divine wisdom or forbidden secrets. One can become a disciple or a sorcerer.
The name “Zeekerss” may very well be a playful nod to this ancient archetype.
In this context, Zeekerss becomes a kind of initiator, drawing players into a world where they must perform the role of the Seeker—entering dark places, gathering fragments of knowledge, and paying the price. The game does not explain itself. It offers no clear lore, no overt moral. It simply drops the player into the ritual. That, too, is a technique used in occult systems—learning by participation, transformation through immersion.
The decision to remain anonymous further reinforces the sense that Zeekerss is a watcher, not a participant. He does not play the game. He orchestrates the space where others do. Like a hidden master in a secret lodge, his silence becomes part of the design.
In a world of overexposed influencers and livestreamed development, the refusal to be known is not laziness. It is a statement. In the language of symbols, it says: “I am not your friend. I am the voice behind the curtain. I offer no answers—only doors.”
This anonymity, combined with the name, places Zeekerss in the long tradition of spiritual storytellers who leave breadcrumbs without claiming authorship. Whether this was intentional or subconscious, it fits the game’s ritualistic structure perfectly.
Players become seekers.
The developer remains unseen.
The Company watches everything.
Conclusion
Lethal Company is more than a game. It is a parable about modern spiritual warfare.
The moons are people. The items are occult fragments. The Company is a demonic bureaucracy. Remote Viewing is conciousness travel to the physical bodies of individuals. The monsters are holy protectors. And the Girl is a memory of the true Mother of God.
This is not fantasy. This is how the demonic thinks. The devil does not destroy people with fire. He destroys them with quotas, with distractions, with small compromises, with secrets gathered in silence.
But there is a way out.
You can stop being a contractor. You can refuse the quota. You can confess what you have seen. You can stop mining others for knowledge and start asking God for truth.
You can call on the real Mary, not the ghost. She is still waiting. She will still lead you home.
