The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous co‑op cult simulation where robed followers zip around on pigs, unleash machine‑gun fire, and eventually confront massive, Cthulhu‑like tentacles. One of the most memorable, yet initially omitted, moments was the appearance of a "snake gun" – a weapon that literally fires serpents.
Joe Dietsch, the chief executive officer and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, explains that the idea came from a team member’s child, who simply asked, “Can there be a snake gun?” Leveraging a rapid‑prototyping tool, Dietsch was able to craft the bizarre weapon in roughly half an hour, delighting the youngster and cementing the weapon’s place in the final product. This anecdote captures the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox survival experience where players can recruit followers or team up with friends to build a 1970s‑style cult empire. It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first philosophy, which has enabled a small group of developers to produce a high‑fidelity title that would normally require a far larger crew. Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, summed up the ambition: “We wanted to be disruptors.
We told everyone we could build this game with a dozen people, and they thought we were crazy.” The team’s confidence stems from a history of achieving big results on modest budgets. Abbott, the son of veteran Hollywood makeup artist Larry Abbott, grew up in the film world and helped launch Ascendant Pictures, a production company founded by Chris Roberts before his shift to the Star Citizen universe.
He later produced movies such as Fight for ’84 starring Jamie Foxx. Dietsch, meanwhile, studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson, son of Mel Gibson, and the two co‑wrote and co‑directed indie features like Happy Hunting and Manifest West.
Their shared background in indie filmmaking taught them to “punch above their weight,” a mindset they carried into game development. The journey to funding was anything but smooth. After 80 pitches, Wolf Haus finally secured equity investment from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which now hold stakes in the studio. The founders’ Hollywood connections proved valuable: they enlisted Dooma Wendschuh, a former film producer and screenwriter turned game narrative director, as chief financial officer.
Wendschuh had previously founded Sekretagent Productions, providing writing services for titles such as Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. He also built a successful cannabis‑formulation company, Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million.
Wendschuh’s path back to game development was serendipitous. After buying a remote island restaurant in Canada and planning a quiet retirement, he received an unexpected call from his old Hollywood Hills roommate, Michael Abbott. Abbott told him a friend had made a video game, and after watching a demo created by Dietsch, Wendschuh was convinced to return to the industry.
He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, a former Warner Bros. Games executive now heading Raccoon Logic, who became a strategic advisor and recruited Ubisoft Montreal veteran Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand as chief technology officer.
With the core team in place, the next hurdle was financing during a market downturn. The studio began pitching in the summer of 2023, but the industry’s slump made investors cautious.
After initial outreach, Wolf Haus signed with Creative Artists Agency (CAA) in Los Angeles, which helped refine their pitch and secure the seed round from Lifelike Capital and Krafton in 2024. Abbott notes that CAA’s representation, which also includes titles like 007: First Light, and the presence of seasoned game veterans were instrumental in winning over investors. What truly sets Join Us apart is the way it is being built: a 13‑person full‑time team handling everything from design to programming to voice direction. Dietsch emphasizes that the team deliberately kept the roster small to ensure every member could contribute creatively and maintain a cohesive vision.
To make such an ambitious open‑world title feasible with limited manpower, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling early in development. "If a system exists in the game, it must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," Dietsch explains. The first year of development was therefore split between ideating gameplay concepts and constructing the internal tools that would allow those concepts to scale across a six‑kilometre‑square map without collapsing under their own complexity.
The funding structure also gave Wolf Haus the runway to perfect these tools. Krafton and Lifelike’s equity stakes meant the studio could self‑fund the core development, using additional project finance only for marketing purposes. This model aligns investor incentives with the studio’s long‑term value creation, encouraging the team to build reusable tools that will benefit future projects even if they temporarily slow progress.
In an industry increasingly enamored with generative AI, Wolf Haus has taken a clear stance against its use in creative production. Dietsch states unequivocally, "We don’t use any generative AI for the creative side of the game.
The human touch is essential to us." Wendschuh adds that while they may employ AI for mundane tasks like calendar management, the actual design, art, and narrative work remain entirely handcrafted. Interestingly, Krafton, which has branded itself as an "AI‑first" company, explicitly required Wolf Haus to avoid AI in the game's creation as a condition of their investment, mirroring similar policies at other Krafton‑owned studios.
The commitment to human‑crafted content extends to the game's massive world and voice work. The six‑kilometre‑square environment was built by hand, and the 15,000 voice lines were recorded by real actors, not synthetic voices.
Dietsch believes this authenticity is crucial, even for an indie title, and sees it as a differentiator in a market where AI‑generated assets are becoming commonplace. Transitioning from film to games also offered Dietsch a newfound immediacy. In cinema, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring scripts, casting, and studio approval before any footage is shot.
In contrast, a game concept can be prototyped within hours, placed into the engine, and instantly visualized. This rapid feedback loop fuels the team’s iterative process and keeps the creative energy high. Wendschuh points out that while filmmaking is often front‑loaded with high‑stakes negotiations to secure A‑list talent, game development has fewer gatekeepers. "Anyone can make a game with a modest budget, whereas a movie usually needs big names or a studio to get distribution," he says.
This democratization aligns with Wolf Haus’s philosophy of empowering a small, passionate team to deliver a unique experience without relying on blockbuster resources. Both founders reflect on their childhood ambitions: Dietsch recalls wanting to make either movies or games at the age of six, a decision that ultimately hinged on a Christmas gift—a camera.
He taught himself programming on a TI‑83 calculator, laying the groundwork for a career that now blends storytelling across both mediums. "Whether you’re making a film or a game, you’re trying to give someone an experience, tell a story, and engage them," he concludes, underscoring the shared creative core that drives the studio’s ambitious, AI‑free, cult‑building adventure.