The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous cooperative cult simulation. In the clip, robed followers zip around on pigs, wielding machine guns, before the screen fades to a massive, Cthulhu‑like mass of tentacles. One detail that didn’t make the final edit was the infamous snake gun, a quirky weapon that Joe Dietsch, the CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, says was born from a child’s off‑hand suggestion.
"My team member’s son asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooting gun look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool that let us spin up a new weapon in about thirty minutes, so I built it on the spot. The kid went nuts, and the snake gun stayed in the game," Dietsch recalls. This anecdote captures the kind of chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers—or friends in co‑op mode—to their 1970s‑style doomsday cult.
Beyond the wild premise, the project showcases a technology‑first mindset that has allowed a small team to produce a high‑fidelity, large‑scale experience. Michael Abbott, the studio’s chief operating officer, explains the team’s philosophy: "We set out to be disruptors. Everyone told us a twelve‑person crew couldn’t deliver a game of this scope, but we’d already proven we could punch far above our weight in indie film." The Wolf Haus founders indeed come from a deep Hollywood background.
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 he turned his attention to Star Citizen.
Abbott later produced movies such as Fight for ’84 starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us originated when Dietsch began tinkering with Unreal Engine after discovering it was free to download.
"I’d been a gamer my whole life, but the barrier to actually making a game felt huge. I started learning from YouTube tutorials and built a few tiny prototypes," he says. Those early experiments led him to a persistent idea: a doomsday cult simulator that blended survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo, showed it to Abbott, and the concept quickly attracted additional talent.
One of those new recruits was Dooma Wendschuh, the studio’s chief financial officer and narrative director. Wendschuh began his career as a producer and screenwriter in Hollywood before moving into games in the early 2000s, founding Sekretagent Productions, which supplied narrative work for titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. In the 2010s he launched several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis‑formulation company Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million (US$330 million).
After cashing out, he bought a remote restaurant on a tiny Canadian island, intending to retire. Retirement, however, was short‑lived. "Out of the blue, my old roommate Michael Abbott called and said a friend had made a video game. I watched the demo and it blew my mind, so I came out of retirement," Wendschuh recounts.
He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, a former vice‑president 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 a core team of about thirteen full‑time staff, Wolf Haus began seeking financing during a market downturn in the summer of 2023. Despite the challenging environment, the studio’s pedigree and the novelty of the concept helped them secure a seed round from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both taking equity stakes. Wendschuh credits their representation by Creative Artists Agency (CAA) and the involvement of seasoned industry veterans for opening doors that might otherwise have remained closed.
The studio’s lean size is intentional. "We wanted everyone to have a voice, to touch the creative, and to feel ownership of the final product," says Dietsch.
To make such an ambitious open‑world game feasible with a small crew, Wolf Haus invested heavily in custom tooling from day one. "Any system we build must be scalable and debuggable by a single person. We spent the first year ideating the game while simultaneously constructing the toolset that would keep the project from collapsing under its own weight," he explains. Funding from Krafton and Lifelike allowed the team to develop these tools without the pressure of tight cash‑flow deadlines.
The investors’ equity stake means they are motivated to see the studio increase in enterprise value, which aligns with Wolf Haus’s philosophy of building reusable tools for future projects. "When we hit a technical roadblock, we simply build a tool to solve it. It may slow us down in the short term, but it enables us to achieve a scope that would otherwise be impossible for a tiny team," Wendschuh notes.
In an industry increasingly buzzing about generative AI, Wolf Haus has deliberately steered clear of using AI for creative content. "We believe a game should retain a human touch.
Automating art or narrative would defeat the purpose of why we love making games," Dietsch says. Wendschuh adds that the studio only uses AI for mundane tasks like calendar management and email drafting, never for design, writing, or asset creation. Even Krafton, which has publicly branded itself an "AI‑first" company, insisted that Wolf Haus not employ generative AI in the creative pipeline.
The investors wanted assurance that the studio’s output would be entirely human‑crafted, a stance echoed by Krafton‑owned Neon Giant, which also distanced itself from AI‑driven development. The result is a game whose six‑kilometre‑square map is hand‑built and whose 15,000 voice lines were recorded by real actors. Dietsch emphasizes that this level of craftsmanship is vital, even for an indie title, because it preserves the authenticity and emotional resonance that AI‑generated voices often lack.
Dietsch also reflects on the differences between filmmaking and game development. In cinema, an idea can take years to reach production, requiring the approval of high‑profile directors and actors before a studio greenlights it. By contrast, a game concept can be prototyped in a single morning and instantly tested in the engine. "You can see your idea come to life the same day you think of it, which is exhilarating," he says.
Wendschuh observes that movies are front‑loaded with massive logistical hurdles—securing talent, financing, distribution—whereas games have far fewer gatekeepers. "You don’t need an A‑list star or director to get a game funded; a solid prototype and a passionate team can attract investors," he explains. Both founders agree that the core creative impulse remains the same across mediums: to tell a story, craft an experience, and engage an audience. Dietsch recalls his childhood fascination with both cameras and calculators, noting that whether you’re making a film or a game, the ultimate goal is to immerse people in a narrative world.
Join Us, with its bizarre weaponry, cult‑building mechanics, and unapologetically over‑the‑top aesthetic, stands as a testament to what a small, focused team can achieve when they combine Hollywood know‑how, savvy tech development, and a refusal to rely on generative AI shortcuts. The game is slated for release later this year, and its creators hope it will inspire other indie studios to think big, even when resources are limited.