The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous co‑op cult simulator where robed followers ride pigs, unleash machine‑guns, and culminate in a nightmarish vision of 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 team members’ kids suggested a snake‑shooting weapon," Dietsch recounts.
"We had a modular gun system, so in about thirty minutes I built a prototype that actually fires snakes. The kid was thrilled, and the weapon stayed in the final build." That anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit that defines Join Us, an open‑world sandbox survival game where players can recruit followers—or friends in co‑op mode—to grow a 1970s‑style cult. It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first mindset, which has enabled a small crew to produce a visually rich, 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 this with twelve people instead of a hundred," Abbott explains.
"Most people thought we were crazy. But we’ve spent our careers on indie film sets where we constantly had to punch far above our weight, so we knew how to stretch limited resources." After eighty pitches, the studio finally secured equity investment from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, giving Wolf Haus the runway it needed.
The founders’ Hollywood pedigree runs deep. Dietsch studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson, son of Mel Gibson, and the two later 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 founded by Chris Roberts before his Star Citizen venture.
He later produced films such as Fight for ’84 starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us began as a personal experiment in Unreal Engine. "I discovered Unreal was free to download and started tinkering after watching YouTube tutorials," Dietsch says.
"I had always loved games, but the barrier to actually creating one felt huge. Unreal lowered that barrier, and I quickly made a few small prototypes." Even without formal training, Dietsch moved from bite‑size experiments to a full‑blown proof of concept for a doomsday cult simulator—a concept that merged his love of survival mechanics, grindhouse cinema, and interactive storytelling. He showed the demo to Abbott, who then presented it to Dooma, a partner studio.
Dooma Wendschuh, Wolf Haus’s chief financial officer and narrative director, began his career as a film producer and screenwriter before transitioning to games in the early 2000s. He founded Sekretagent Productions, providing narrative work for titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. Later, he built several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis formulation company Ebbu, which sold for C$430 million (about $330 million USD). After the sale, Wendschuh bought a remote island restaurant in Canada, planning a quiet retirement.
That plan was interrupted when an old roommate, Michael Abbott, called out of the blue. "He told me a friend had made a video game and asked me to take a look," Wendschuh recalls. "The demo blew my mind and pulled me back into development." He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, former VP at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, who became a strategic advisor.
Schneider recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. With the core team assembled, the next hurdle was financing. Pitching began in summer 2023, a period marked by a broader industry downturn.
"People liked what we were building but the market was tight," 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 CAA’s clout—its roster includes titles like 007: First Light—and the credibility of veterans Schneider and Chartrand for opening doors. Despite the high‑profile backing, Wolf Haus deliberately kept its headcount low: thirteen full‑time staff members. "We wanted everyone to have a voice and to touch the creative process directly," says Dietsch.
To make such an ambitious open‑world possible with a small crew, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling from day one. "Any system in the game must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," he explains. "We built a toolkit that lets us expand features across a massive map without the project collapsing under its own weight." The equity funding model gave Wolf Haus the breathing room to perfect these tools.
"Krafton and Lifelike’s investment funds the development entirely, so the game is essentially self‑funded," Wendschuh says. "We’re now only seeking a modest amount of project finance for marketing." One of the most striking aspects of Wolf Haus’s approach is its staunch rejection of generative AI for creative work. "We don’t use generative AI at all in game creation," Dietsch affirms. "Our process relies on human intuition and craftsmanship.
The only AI we employ helps with mundane tasks like calendar management and email replies." Krafton, which has publicly positioned itself as an "AI‑first" company, actually insisted that Wolf Haus avoid AI in the creative pipeline. "Our investors wanted assurance that the studio wasn’t relying on generative AI to produce the game," Wendschuh explains, echoing a similar stance taken by Krafton‑owned Neon Giant. The team also emphasizes human‑generated content: the six‑kilometre‑square map is hand‑crafted, and all 15,000 voice lines were recorded by real actors. Dietsch finds the immediacy of game development especially rewarding compared with film.
In cinema, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring countless approvals and the coordination of high‑profile talent. In games, an idea can be prototyped in a single morning, placed into the engine, and instantly visualized. "You can see your concept live the same day you think of it," he says, highlighting the rapid feedback loop that fuels his creativity. Wendschuh points out that film production is heavily front‑loaded: securing a star director or A‑list actor is often the gatekeeper to a greenlight.
While anyone can technically shoot a movie with a consumer‑grade camera, breaking through without industry clout is rare. By contrast, the video‑game market has fewer gatekeepers, making it easier for small teams to achieve commercial success without celebrity endorsements.
"You don’t need a famous actor or director to launch a hit game," he notes. Both founders agree that storytelling is the core thread binding their work across mediums.
"When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games—it was a coin toss that landed on a camera for Christmas," Dietsch reflects. "I learned programming on a TI‑83, so the two worlds have always been intertwined for me. Whether it’s a film or a game, the goal is to deliver an experience, tell a story, and engage the audience.
That mission hasn’t changed." In summary, Wolf Haus’s journey illustrates how a small, Hollywood‑savvy team can leverage bespoke technology, strategic financing, and a human‑first creative philosophy to build a large‑scale, high‑quality game without relying on generative AI. Their story underscores the power of lean development, the value of cross‑industry experience, and the enduring appeal of hands‑on craftsmanship in interactive entertainment.