The buzz around Join Us first hit the public sphere when its trailer appeared in the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous cooperative cult simulator. The short clip showed robed followers charging on pig‑mounted platforms, unleashing a barrage of gunfire, before the screen dissolved into a vision of massive, Cthulhu‑like tentacles. Yet the trailer omitted a particularly quirky weapon—a snake‑shooting gun—that has become a signature element of the game.
According to Joe Dietsch, the chief executive officer and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, the snake gun originated from an impromptu suggestion made by the son of a team member. "He asked, ‘What if there’s a gun that fires snakes?’" Dietsch recalled. "Because we had built a modular weapon system that could be iterated on in a matter of minutes, I was able to prototype a snake‑launcher in roughly half an hour.
The kid was blown away, and the weapon stayed in the final build." That anecdote encapsulates the kind of chaotic, off‑the‑wall gameplay that Join Us aims to deliver. The game is an open‑world sandbox survival experience set in a 1970s‑style cult environment where players can recruit both AI followers and real‑life friends in co‑op mode.
The underlying philosophy, however, is not merely about quirky weapons or over‑the‑top scenarios; it reflects a broader, technology‑first approach that has allowed a very small team to produce a high‑fidelity title that would traditionally require a roster of dozens, if not hundreds, of developers. "We wanted to be disruptors," says Michael Abbott, the chief operating officer of Wolf Haus. "The prevailing belief was that you need a massive staff to build a game of this scope.
We argued that a focused group of twelve could pull it off, and we proved it." The team’s confidence stems from a history of achieving ambitious results on shoestring budgets. Many of the founders come from the indie film world, a sector where stretching limited resources is a daily reality.
"We’re used to punching far above our weight," Abbott noted, referencing his background in low‑budget filmmaking. After a grueling 80‑pitch marathon, the studio finally secured equity financing from both Krafton—best known for PUBG—and Lifelike Capital, which gave Wolf Haus the financial runway it needed without sacrificing creative control. The roots of Wolf Haus are deeply embedded in Hollywood.
Dietsch attended Chapman University in California, where he studied film alongside Louie Gibson, the son of Mel Gibson, who later became a co‑founder of the studio. The two collaborated on independent features such as Happy Hunting and Manifest West.
Abbott’s lineage is equally cinematic; his father, Larry Abbott, is a veteran Hollywood makeup artist, and Michael helped establish Ascendant Pictures, the production company originally founded by Chris Roberts before his transition to the gaming realm with Star Citizen. Abbott also produced titles like the 1984 action drama Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx, further cementing the team’s cross‑media pedigree. The genesis of Join Us can be traced back to Dietsch’s experimentation with the Unreal Engine. "I discovered that Unreal Engine could be downloaded for free, and that lowered the barrier to entry dramatically," he explained.
Having been a lifelong gamer and movie enthusiast, he began learning the engine through YouTube tutorials, eventually creating a handful of modest prototypes. One concept kept resurfacing: a doomsday cult simulator that merged survival mechanics with the aesthetic of grindhouse cinema. The idea felt like a perfect marriage of his two passions—interactive storytelling and the gritty, exploitative vibe of 1970s genre films. To test the waters, Dietsch built a proof‑of‑concept demo, fully aware that technical hurdles would surface early.
He presented the prototype to Abbott, who then took it to Dooma, a partner studio, for further development. Dooma’s CFO and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, entered the picture with a rich background that spans film production, screenwriting, and video‑game narrative design. Wendschuh had previously contributed writing to major franchises such as Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins through his own company, Sekretagent Productions.
In the 2010s he also founded a cannabis‑formulation business, Ebbu, which was later sold for roughly C$430 million (about $330 million USD). After a brief retirement—during which he bought a remote island restaurant in Canada—Wendschuh was drawn back into the industry by an unexpected call from his old Hollywood‑hillroommate, Michael Abbott. The demo impressed him so much that he left retirement, brought on former Warner Bros. Games VP Reid Schneider as a strategic advisor, and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, to serve as chief technology officer.
With a core leadership team in place, the next hurdle was financing. The team entered the market in the summer of 2023, a period marked by a broader industry downturn that made investors cautious.
"We kept hearing that the concept was cool, but the timing was tough," Dietsch said. The studio enlisted the Creative Artists Agency (CAA) to help navigate the pitching process, eventually securing a seed round from Lifelike Capital and Krafton in early 2024.
The partnership with CAA proved pivotal; their roster includes titles like 007: First Light, and their connections opened doors that might have otherwise remained closed. Today, Join Us is being built by a tight‑knit group of just thirteen full‑time staff members.
The studio deliberately cultivated a small‑team culture where every employee has a say in the creative direction, fostering a sense of ownership that larger studios often lack. To sustain such an ambitious open‑world experience with a limited headcount, the team devoted a substantial portion of the first development year to building robust, scalable tools. "If a system is going to be used across a massive map, it needs to be debuggable and extensible by a single developer," Dietsch explained.
This tooling‑first mentality not only prevents the project from collapsing under its own complexity but also lays the groundwork for future titles. Funding from Krafton and Lifelike has been structured as equity, meaning the investors have a direct stake in the studio’s long‑term value.
This arrangement affords Wolf Haus the flexibility to pour money into tool development without the pressure of immediate returns. "Our investors want the studio to increase its enterprise value, so they support our extensive tooling effort," Wendschuh noted. While the game is largely self‑funded, a modest amount of project finance is being allocated for marketing activities as the launch approaches.
In an era where generative AI is touted as a shortcut for content creation, Wolf Haus deliberately eschews its use in the artistic pipeline. "We believe a game should retain a human touch," Dietser said. "Automation might streamline chores, but it would undermine the very reason we get up each morning—to craft something ourselves." The team does use AI for administrative tasks like calendar management and email drafting, but none of the creative assets—models, textures, dialogue—are generated by AI. Interestingly, Krafton, which has publicly embraced an "AI‑first" identity, explicitly required Wolf Haus to avoid generative AI in its creative workflow as a condition of their investment.
This mirrors a similar stance taken by Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio, which also distances itself from AI‑driven content. The commitment to handcrafted artistry is evident in the game's scope. The open‑world map, covering roughly six square kilometres, was hand‑sculpted by the team, and all 15,000 voice lines were recorded by human actors—a remarkable feat for an indie‑scale project. "We wanted to prove that a small studio could produce a fully realized, human‑driven experience without leaning on AI shortcuts," Dietsch affirmed.
Comparing his experiences in film and games, Dietsch highlights the immediacy that digital interactive media provides. In filmmaking, an idea can spend years in development, awaiting financing, casting, and production slots before it ever sees the light of day. In contrast, a concept can be prototyped in a game engine within hours, offering instant visual feedback and a faster iteration loop. "You can have an idea this morning, drop it into the engine, see it in action by lunch, and iterate," he said, noting how this rapid turnaround fuels his creative enthusiasm.
Wendschuh adds that the traditional film industry is heavily front‑loaded: securing a high‑profile director or star is often a prerequisite for green‑lighting, creating a steep gatekeeper barrier. While anyone could technically shoot a low‑budget film with a basic camera, breaking through the distribution and marketing hurdles without marquee names is rare. Game development, however, presents a lower barrier to entry—no A‑list actors or directors are required to achieve success, as the medium is more accessible and its distribution channels are more democratized.
Both founders agree that the core motivation across both media is storytelling: delivering an experience that engages and moves the audience. "Whether it's a movie or a game, you're trying to tell a story and immerse the player or viewer," Dietsch concluded, reflecting on his lifelong fascination with both forms.
"It’s a coin toss that led me down this path, but ultimately it’s about creating memorable experiences, no matter the medium."