The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous cooperative cult simulator. In the clip, robed cultists zip around on pig‑drawn carts, brandishing machine guns, before the scene cuts to an ominous image of colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles. What didn’t make the cut, according to Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games—was the now‑infamous snake gun.
"One of the developer’s kids suggested a snake‑shooter," Dietsch recounts. "We had a rapid‑prototype tool that let us spin up a new weapon in about thirty minutes, so I built a gun that fires snakes on the spot.
The kid went nuts, and the weapon stayed in the final build." That anecdote perfectly captures the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers—or invite friends in co‑op—to build a 1970s‑style doomsday cult. It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first philosophy, which has enabled a high‑fidelity, large‑scale experience to be produced by a remarkably small crew.
Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, sums it up: "We set out to be disruptors. We told everyone we could deliver a AAA‑level game with just twelve people. Most thought we were crazy." The team’s confidence stems from a history of achieving big results on modest budgets. "We come from indie filmmaking, where you learn to punch far above your weight," Abbott explains.
After an exhaustive 80‑pitch marathon, Wolf Haus finally secured equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which took stakes in the studio. The founders’ Hollywood pedigree runs 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 renowned makeup artist Larry Abbott and helped launch Ascendant Pictures, the production company founded by Chris Roberts before his Star Citizen venture. Later, Abbott 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, but the barrier to actually creating something felt huge," he says. He taught himself through YouTube tutorials, built a few tiny prototypes, and eventually gravitated toward a doomsday‑cult concept that blended survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. "It let me fuse everything I love about movies and games into a single IP," he adds. He built a proof‑of‑concept, assuming it would soon hit a technical wall.
When he showed the demo to Abbott, the latter immediately took it to Dooma, a partner studio. Dooma’s CFO and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, had previously produced and written for film before transitioning to games in the early 2000s. He founded Sekretagent Productions, supplying narrative work for titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. Later, he launched several tech ventures, including the cannabis formulation firm Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million (US$330 million).
After the sale, Wendschuh bought a remote island restaurant in Canada, intending to retire and enjoy a quiet life. Yet, in classic Hollywood fashion, an unexpected call from his old roommate Michael Abbott pulled him back. "I was ready to walk my dog on the beach, but Joe’s game blew my mind and convinced me to come out of retirement," Wendschuh says.
He then introduced the project to Reid Schneider, a former Warner Bros. Games VP now heading Raccoon Logic, the creators of 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 assembled, the next hurdle was financing—a daunting task in a market that was already in a downturn by summer 2023. "People liked what we were building, but the timing was tough," Dietsch notes.
The studio enlisted CAA (Creative Artists Agency) in Los Angeles, re‑approached investors in 2024, and eventually closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton. Wendschuh credits the CAA connection—whose roster includes titles like 007: First Light—and the presence of seasoned veterans like Schneider and Chartrand for smoothing the path. "My old agent Derek Douglas, who represented me during my twelve‑year game‑making career, also heads the video‑game department at William Morris," he says. What truly sets Join Us apart is its production model: a lean team of thirteen full‑time staff.
"We entered the project with a clear understanding of scope, but we also wanted every team member to have a voice and a hand in the creative process," Dietsch explains. To make such an ambitious open‑world possible, Wolf Haus invested heavily in internal tooling early on. "Every system must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," he says.
The first year was split between ideating gameplay and building the tools that would keep the project from collapsing under its own weight. The equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike allowed the studio to self‑finance development, using the capital to perfect these tools. "Our investors are motivated to increase the studio’s enterprise value, so they support our tool‑building ethos," Wendschuh adds. "When we encounter a problem we don’t know how to solve, we simply create a tool for it.
It may slow us down in the short term, but it enables a tiny team to deliver a game of this magnitude." In an industry increasingly buzzing about generative AI, Wolf Haus deliberately steers clear of it for creative work. "We believe a human touch is essential. Using AI to generate core content would defeat the purpose of why we love making games," Dietsch asserts. Wendschuh concedes they use AI for mundane tasks like calendar management and email drafting, but not for any artistic or design decisions.
Even Krafton, which has branded itself an "AI‑first" company, insisted that Wolf Haus avoid generative AI in the creative pipeline. "They wanted to be certain we weren’t relying on AI to produce the game," Wendschuh notes, echoing a similar stance taken by Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio. The studio’s commitment to handcrafted content is evident in the six‑kilometre‑square map, which was built entirely by hand, and the 15,000 voice lines, all recorded by human actors.
"That level of human craftsmanship matters to us, even as a small indie," Dietsch says. Dietsch also highlights a key advantage of game development over film: immediacy.
In cinema, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring approvals, casting, and extensive pre‑production. "You write a script, wait three or five years, then maybe you get a green light," he explains. "In games, you can have an idea this morning, drop it into the engine, and see it instantly. That instant feedback loop is exhilarating." Wendschuh points out that film production is heavily front‑loaded, with intense, costly set work and a reliance on a handful of high‑profile talent to secure financing.
While anyone can shoot a backyard movie, breaking through without star power or distribution is rare. By contrast, the game industry has fewer gatekeepers; a small team can reach a global audience without needing A‑list actors or directors. Both founders agree that storytelling is the common thread binding their two passions.
"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 recalls. He taught himself programming on a TI‑83 calculator, a skill that later merged with his love of cinema. "Whether you’re making a film or a game, you’re delivering an experience, telling a story, and engaging an audience.
The medium changes, but the creative impulse stays the same."