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 followers zip around on pigs, unleash a barrage of machine‑gun fire, and the sequence culminates with a nightmarish vision of colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles.
What the audience didn’t see was the infamous "snake gun," a quirky weapon that has become a hallmark of the game. According to Joe Dietsch, the chief executive officer and creative director at Wolf Haus Games, the idea for the snake‑shooting firearm originated from a child’s off‑hand suggestion. "One of our team member’s son asked, ‘What would a snake gun look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool that let us spin up a new weapon in roughly half an hour, so I built it on the fly. The kid went nuts, and the gun stayed in the final build," Dietsch recalls.
This anecdote encapsulates the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox where players can amass followers—or invite friends in co‑op mode—to build a 1970s‑style cult empire. It also illustrates why the studio’s tech‑first philosophy matters. Michael Abbott, the chief operating officer, says the team set out to be "disruptors" by proving that a high‑fidelity, large‑scale title could be produced by a remarkably lean crew.
"We told everyone, ‘We don’t need a hundred‑person staff; twelve is enough.’ Most people laughed and called us crazy. But we’ve spent our careers punching above our weight, so we knew it was possible," Abbott explains.
Wolf Haus’s founders bring a deep Hollywood pedigree to the table. Dietsch studied film at Chapman University, where he roomed with Louie Gibson—son of legendary actor‑director Mel Gibson—and together they co‑wrote and co‑directed indie features such as Happy Hunting and Manifest West. Abbott is the son of veteran makeup artist Larry Abbott and helped launch Ascendant Pictures, the production outfit originally founded by Chris Roberts before his shift to the Star Citizen universe. Abbott later produced movies like Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx, adding further cinematic credibility to the venture.
The seed of Join Us sprouted when Dietsch began tinkering with Unreal Engine after discovering that the software could be downloaded for free. "I’d been a gamer my whole life, but the barrier to actually creating something felt insurmountable. I started watching YouTube tutorials, built a few tiny prototypes, and eventually the idea of a doomsday cult simulator kept resurfacing," he says. The concept fused his love of grindhouse cinema, survival mechanics, and the narrative freedom of games into a single intellectual property.
He built a proof‑of‑concept demo and showed it to Abbott, who then presented it to Dooma, a production partner. The demo’s eccentric charm caught the eye of Dooma’s chief financial officer and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, a former film producer and screenwriter who transitioned to games in the early 2000s. Wendschuh’s résumé includes writing credits for Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins through his company Sekretagent Productions.
Later, he founded several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis‑formulation firm Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million (about $330 million USD). After cashing out, Wendschuh bought a remote island restaurant in Canada, intending to retire and enjoy a quiet life.
Yet, in true Hollywood fashion, a call from his old roommate Michael Abbott pulled him back into the industry. "I was ready to relax, but when Joe sent me the demo, it blew my mind and I was back in the game," Wendschuh recounts.
He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, former VP at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet.
Schneider came on board as a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a veteran programmer from Ubisoft Montreal, to serve as chief technology officer. With a core team forming, the next hurdle was financing. The studio began pitching in the summer of 2023, a period marked by a broader industry downturn.
Initial meetings generated enthusiasm for the concept but did not translate into immediate capital. After securing representation from Creative Artists Agency (CAA) in Los Angeles, the team intensified its outreach throughout 2024.
Their persistence paid off when they closed a seed round with Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both taking equity stakes in Wolf Haus. Abbott credits the CAA connection and the presence of seasoned veterans like Schneider and Chartrand for smoothing the fundraising path.
"Our agent Derek Douglas had represented me for over a decade and previously headed the video‑game department at William Morris. That pedigree opened doors that would have otherwise stayed closed," Abbott notes. Despite the high‑profile backing, Wolf Haus has deliberately kept its staff small—13 full‑time employees at the time of writing.
Dietsch emphasizes that the limited headcount is a conscious choice to preserve a collaborative atmosphere where every voice matters and each team member can directly influence the creative direction. To make such an ambitious project feasible with a tiny crew, the studio 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 simultaneously designing gameplay and constructing the internal tools that would keep the project from collapsing under its own weight," he explains.
The equity funding model afforded the studio the runway needed to perfect those tools. Krafton and Lifelike’s capital was used to self‑fund development, with only a modest amount of project finance earmarked for marketing later on. This structure aligns the investors’ interests with the studio’s long‑term value creation, encouraging the team to build reusable technology rather than taking shortcuts. When asked about the role of generative AI—a hot topic in game development—Dietsch gave a clear answer: none.
"We believe a human touch is essential. Hand‑crafting the experience is why we get up every morning," he says.
Wendschuh adds that while the studio subscribes to a few AI services for mundane tasks like calendar management, no generative AI tools are employed in any creative capacity. Interestingly, Krafton, which has publicly positioned itself as an "AI‑first" company, explicitly required that Wolf Haus refrain from using generative AI in the game's creation, mirroring a stance taken by Krafton‑owned Neon Giant. The team’s commitment to handcrafted content extends to the game’s world and audio. The six‑kilometer‑square map in Join Us is entirely hand‑modeled, and the title features roughly 15,000 voice lines recorded by professional actors—no synthetic voices.
Dietsch stresses that even as an indie studio, preserving that level of artisanal quality was non‑negotiable. Comparing his two career paths, Dietsch highlights the immediacy of game development versus the lengthy gestation of film. In cinema, an idea can take years to secure financing, cast A‑list talent, and finally reach the set. By contrast, a game concept can be prototyped in a single morning, tested in the engine, and iterated upon instantly.
Wendschuh observes that filmmaking is heavily front‑loaded, requiring high‑profile attachments before a studio will greenlight a project. While anyone can shoot a low‑budget movie with a backyard camera, breaking through without marquee names is rare. Games, however, have a lower barrier to entry and fewer gatekeepers, allowing small teams to achieve commercial success without A‑list talent. Both founders agree that the core creative impulse remains the same across mediums: delivering an experience, telling a story, and engaging an audience.
Dietsch reflects, "When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games. It came down to a coin toss and a Christmas camera. I learned to code on a TI‑83, so I’ve always been straddling both worlds. Whether you’re crafting a film or a game, you’re ultimately trying to move people, and that hasn’t changed."