The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous co‑op cult simulator. In the preview, robed followers zip around on pigs, wielding machine guns, before the scene cuts to massive, Cthulhu‑like tentacles.
What didn’t make the cut, according to Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games—was the infamous snake‑gun. "One of the developers’ kids came up with the idea of a snake‑gun," Dietsch recalls. "We had a modular weapon system, so within half an hour I built a gun that actually fires snakes.
The kid was blown away, and the weapon stayed in the final build." That anecdote captures the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers—or other players in co‑op mode—to build a 1970s‑style cult empire. It also illustrates the studio’s tech‑first philosophy, which has allowed a tiny crew to produce a high‑fidelity, large‑scale title. Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, says the team set out to be “disruptors.” "We told everyone we could build a AAA‑ish experience with just twelve people. Most people laughed and said it was impossible," Abbott explains.
"But we come from indie‑film backgrounds where we constantly punch far above our budget. We pitched the concept eighty times before Krafton and Lifelike Capital finally took an equity stake and funded the project." The founders’ Hollywood roots run deep.
Dietsch studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson, son of Mel Gibson, who now co‑founders Wolf Haus. Together they 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 he moved on to Star Citizen. Abbott later produced movies such as Fight for ’84 starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us originated from Dietsch tinkering in Unreal Engine.
"Unreal was free to download, and I’d always loved games. It felt like there was a huge barrier to actually creating something, so I started watching YouTube tutorials and experimenting," he says. Despite no formal training, Dietsch built a few small prototypes before committing to a larger vision: a doomsday cult simulator that fused survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. He built a proof‑of‑concept, hit what he expected to be a technical wall, and showed the demo to Abbott, who then presented it to Dooma.
Dooma Wendschuh, Wolf Haus’s CFO and narrative director, began his career as a film producer and screenwriter before moving into games in the early 2000s. He founded Sekretagent Productions, providing writing services for titles such as Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins.
Later he launched several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis formulation company Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million (about $330 million USD). After selling Ebbu, Wendschuh bought a remote island restaurant in Canada, intending to retire.
Yet, in classic Hollywood fashion, a call from his old roommate Michael Abbott pulled him back into the industry. "I was planning to spend my days on the beach with my dog, when Michael rang and said a friend had made a video game. I watched the demo, it blew my mind, and I decided to come out of retirement," Wendschuh recounts.
He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, former VP at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet.
Schneider joined as a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, to serve as chief technology officer. With the core team in place, the next hurdle was financing—a daunting task during the industry downturn of 2023‑2024. The studio began pitching in the summer of 2023, receiving positive feedback but facing a tight market. After initial outreach, Wolf Haus signed with CAA (Creative Artists Agency) in Los Angeles, re‑engaged in 2024, and eventually secured seed funding from Lifelike Capital and Krafton.
Wendschuh credits CAA’s representation—alongside agents who had previously handled video‑game talent—for opening doors. Despite the high‑profile backers, the studio remains lean: thirteen full‑time staff members. Dietsch emphasizes that the small size is intentional, fostering an environment where every voice matters and everyone can touch the creative core. To make an ambitious open‑world title feasible with such a compact crew, Wolf Haus invested heavily in custom tooling early on.
"If a system exists in the game, it must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," Dietsch explains. "We built a toolkit that lets one developer iterate without the project collapsing under its own weight.
The first year was as much about building those tools as it was about designing gameplay." The funding model also supports this tooling‑first approach. Krafton and Lifelike’s equity investment has been used to self‑fund development, with only a modest amount of project finance earmarked for marketing. "Equity partners want the studio to increase its enterprise value, so they encourage us to build robust tools," says Wendschuh.
"Whenever we encounter a problem we can’t solve, we create a tool to address it. It may slow us down short‑term, but it enables a tiny team to deliver a game of this scope." When asked about generative AI—a hot topic in game development—both Dietsch and Wendschuh are clear: they avoid it for creative work.
"We believe a human touch is essential. Using AI to generate assets would defeat why we get up every morning," Dietsch says. Wendschuh adds that the only AI they employ is for administrative tasks like calendar management and email drafting.
Interestingly, Krafton, which has branded itself as an "AI‑first" company, specifically required Wolf Haus to avoid generative AI in the creative pipeline, echoing similar statements from Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio. The commitment to hand‑crafted content is evident. The six‑kilometre‑square map in Join Us was built manually, and the game features roughly 15,000 voice lines recorded by human actors—no synthetic voices.
Dietsch stresses that even as a small indie studio, they wanted to preserve that level of craftsmanship. Comparing his film background to game development, Dietsch highlights the immediacy of the latter. In cinema, an idea can take years to materialise, requiring approvals, casting, and scheduling.
In games, an idea can be prototyped in a morning, placed into the engine, and instantly visualised. Wendschuh notes that film production is heavily front‑loaded, with extensive pre‑production work needed to secure high‑profile talent and studio backing.
By contrast, the game industry has fewer gatekeepers; a small team can ship a successful product without A‑list actors or directors. Both creators acknowledge that the core creative impulse—telling stories and delivering experiences—remains the same across mediums.
"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 you’re making a film or a game, you’re trying to engage an audience, tell a story, and give them an experience. The tools change, but the goal stays the same."