The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous, cooperative cult‑simulation set in an open‑world sandbox. The teaser showed robed followers charging on pigs, firing machine guns, and culminated with a nightmarish image of tentacled, Cthulhu‑like monstrosities.
What didn’t make the cut, according to Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of the game’s studio, Wolf Haus Games—was the infamous snake gun. "One of the developer’s kids suggested a snake‑gun," Dietsch recalls.
"He asked, ‘What if a gun could shoot snakes?’ Using a rapid‑scale weapon‑building tool we had, I whipped up a prototype in about thirty minutes. The kid was blown away, and the weapon made it into the final build." This anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit that defines Join Us, where players can amass followers—or bring friends into the experience—to lead a 1970s‑style cult through a sprawling, survival‑focused landscape.
The game’s development philosophy is equally unorthodox. Michael Abbott, the studio’s chief operating officer, emphasizes that Wolf Haus set out to be a disruptive force: "We told ourselves we didn’t need a hundred‑person army; a twelve‑person core could deliver a AAA‑level experience." Skeptics dismissed the claim as naïve, but the team’s background in low‑budget indie filmmaking gave them confidence.
"We come from the indie‑film world where you have to punch far above your weight," Abbott explains. After 80 pitches, the studio secured equity investments from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, which provided the financial lifeline needed to move forward. The founders’ Hollywood connections run deep. Dietsch studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson—son of Mel Gibson—who co‑founded Wolf Haus and co‑wrote and co‑directed the indie features Happy Hunting and Manifest West.
Abbott is the son of veteran makeup artist Larry Abbott and helped launch Ascendant Pictures, the production company started by Chris Roberts before his shift to the Star Citizen universe. Abbott later produced movies such as Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx.
Join Us originated from Dietsch’s experimentation with Unreal Engine. "I discovered the engine was free to download and, despite having no formal training, I dove into YouTube tutorials," he says. After a couple of modest prototypes, the idea of a doomsday cult simulator kept resurfacing because it merged his love for survival games with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. The proof‑of‑concept grew into a full demo, which he presented to Abbott, who then took it to Dooma for further development.
Dooma Wendschuh, the studio’s chief financial officer and narrative director, entered the picture after a varied career that spanned film production, screenwriting, and video‑game narrative work on titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. He later founded a cannabis‑formulation company, Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million. After a brief retirement on a remote Canadian island, a call from his old Hollywood‑hillroommate Michael Abbott pulled him back into the industry.
Wendschuh was impressed by the demo and introduced it to Reid Schneider, a former Warner Bros. Games VP now heading Raccoon Logic, who brought on Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, an ex‑Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer.
Funding proved challenging amid a market downturn that began in mid‑2023. The team, after an initial round of outreach, partnered with CAA in Los Angeles and resumed pitching throughout 2024. Their persistence paid off when Lifelike Capital and Krafton closed the seed round.
"Having CAA, which also represents titles like 007: First Light, gave us credibility," notes Wendschuh, who also highlights the strategic value of veteran advisors such as Schneider and Chartrand. The studio’s lean structure—just 13 full‑time staff—means every member wears multiple hats.
"We entered the project with a clear understanding of its scope and wanted to keep the team small so everyone’s voice is heard and every creative decision feels personal," says Dietsch. To achieve this, the first year of development was split between designing gameplay and building the internal toolset required to support an open‑world environment.
"If a system exists, it must be scalable and debugable by a single developer," Dietsch explains. This emphasis on tooling allowed the team to expand features across a six‑kilometer‑square map without the codebase becoming unmanageable. Equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike gave the studio the runway to perfect these tools. "The money we raised was used almost entirely to self‑fund the game," says Wendschuh.
While a modest amount of project finance is earmarked for marketing, the core development was covered by the investors, who share the studio’s goal of increasing enterprise value. This alignment encouraged the team to build custom solutions for every technical hurdle, even if it meant a slower overall pace.
Contrary to the hype surrounding generative AI in game development, Wolf Haus deliberately avoids it for creative tasks. "We believe a game needs a human touch; outsourcing the creative process to an AI would defeat the purpose of why we love making games," says Dietsch. The studio does use generative AI for administrative chores like calendar management, but none of the art, design, or narrative work is AI‑generated.
Interestingly, Krafton, which publicly brands itself as an "AI‑first" company, explicitly required Wolf Haus to refrain from using generative AI in the creative pipeline. This mirrors the stance of Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio that publicly distanced itself from the parent’s AI pivot.
The commitment to handcrafted content is evident in the game’s scale: the entire map is hand‑crafted, and all 15,000 voice lines are performed by real actors, not synthesized voices. "Even as a small indie, preserving that human element was non‑negotiable," Dietsch stresses. Dietsch also notes the immediacy of game development compared to filmmaking. In movies, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring approval from studios, directors, and actors.
In contrast, a concept can be prototyped in a game engine within hours, offering instant feedback. Wendschuh observes that film production is heavily front‑loaded with securing talent and green‑lighting, whereas games have fewer gatekeepers; you don’t need an A‑list star or director to launch a successful title.
Both mediums, however, share a common creative drive: delivering an experience, telling a story, and engaging an audience. "When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games. It came down to a coin toss and whether I got a camera for Christmas," Dietsch reflects. "Whether it’s a film or a game, the goal is the same—crafting a narrative that moves people."