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 pig‑mounted vehicles, blasting foes with machine guns, before the screen fades to an ominous mass of Cthulhu‑like tentacles. What viewers didn’t see was the infamous snake‑gun, a weapon that Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games—explains was born from a simple suggestion by a team member’s child.
“His son asked, ‘What would a snake‑gun look like?’ We had a modular weapon system that let us prototype something in half an hour. I built a gun that literally fired snakes, and the kid went nuts. It stayed in the final build,” Dietsch recalls.
This anecdote captures the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers—or friends in co‑op mode—to build a 1970s‑style cult empire. It also illustrates the studio’s tech‑first mindset, which has allowed a small crew to produce a high‑fidelity title that would normally require a much larger staff. Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, summed up the team’s ambition: “We wanted to be disruptors. We told everyone, ‘We don’t need a hundred people; twelve can do the job.’ Most people laughed, saying it was impossible.” Their confidence stems from a background in indie filmmaking, where doing more with less is the norm.
The studio endured eighty pitches before securing equity investment from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which now hold stakes in Wolf Haus. The founders’ Hollywood pedigree runs deep.
Dietsch studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson, son of actor‑director 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 transition to the Star Citizen universe. Abbott’s film résumé includes producing the Jamie Foxx‑led thriller Fight for ’84.
Join Us originated from Dietsch’s early experiments in Unreal Engine. “I discovered Unreal was free to download, and I’d always loved games but felt blocked from actually creating one,” he says. He taught himself the engine through YouTube tutorials, eventually crafting a handful of small prototypes. One idea kept resurfacing: a doomsday cult simulator that blended survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics.
The concept felt like a natural marriage of his film sensibilities and gaming passions. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo, assuming it would hit a technical wall quickly.
When he showed it to Abbott, the latter recognized its potential and presented it to Dooma, a production partner. Dooma’s CFO and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, had begun his career as a film producer and screenwriter before moving into games in the early 2000s, contributing writing to titles such as Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. In the 2010s he founded several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis formulation company Ebbu, which later sold for roughly C$430 million (US$330 million). After selling Ebbu, Wendschuh bought a remote restaurant on a tiny Canadian island, intending to retire.
Yet a call from his old Hollywood Hills roommate, Michael Abbott, pulled him back. “I was looking at the video Joe had made, and it blew my mind. I came out of retirement to help,” Wendschuh says. 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 joined as a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, to serve as chief technology officer. With the core team assembled, the next hurdle was financing—especially challenging during the industry downturn of 2023‑2024.
The studio began pitching in the summer of 2023, initially receiving polite interest but little commitment. After enlisting the Creative Artists Agency (CAA) as representation, they returned to the market in 2024 and finally closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton.
Wendschuh credits CAA’s connections, noting that their agent Derek Douglas had represented him during his twelve‑year gaming career and previously headed the video‑game department at William Morris. Despite the high‑profile backers, the development team remains lean: thirteen full‑time staff members. Dietsch emphasizes that the small size is intentional, fostering an environment where every voice matters and each person can directly shape the creative direction. To make a large‑scale open world feasible with such a limited crew, Wolf Haus invested heavily in custom tooling early on.
“If a system exists in the game, it must be scalable and debuggable by a single developer,” Dietsch explains. The first year of production was split between ideating gameplay and building the internal tools that would later allow the world to expand without collapsing under its own complexity. The equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike provided the runway to perfect these tools. “The game is essentially self‑funded through their investment,” says Wendschuh.
“We’re now adding a modest project‑finance component for marketing, but development has been covered entirely by our equity partners.” This model aligns incentives: investors benefit from the studio’s increased enterprise value, encouraging Wolf Haus to continue building reusable tools that streamline future projects. When asked about generative AI—a hot topic in game development—Dietsch is unequivocal: the studio does not employ AI for creative tasks. “We believe a human touch is essential.
Using an AI to generate core content would defeat the purpose of why we love making games,” he says. Wendschuh adds that while the team may use AI for mundane tasks like calendar management, it never touches the artistic side of development.
Interestingly, Krafton, which has publicly positioned itself as an “AI‑first” company, explicitly required that Wolf Haus not rely on generative AI for creative work as a condition of their investment. This stance mirrors that of Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio that distanced itself from the parent’s AI pivot.
The commitment to handcrafted content extends to the game's massive six‑kilometer‑square map, which was built entirely by hand, and the 15,000 voice lines, all recorded by human actors. Dietsch stresses that preserving this level of artisanal detail was a non‑negotiable goal, even for a modest indie studio. Transitioning from film to games, Dietsch finds the immediacy of interactive media exhilarating. In cinema, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring approvals, casting, and a lengthy production schedule.
In contrast, a game concept can be prototyped within hours: “You can have an idea in the morning, drop it into the engine, see it instantly, and start iterating,” he says. Wendschuh notes that film production is heavily front‑loaded, with massive coordination needed to secure A‑list talent and studio backing before shooting begins. While anyone can shoot a backyard movie, breaking through without established names or distribution is rare.
Games, however, have far fewer gatekeepers; a small team can release a polished product without needing Hollywood’s A‑list. Both mediums, though, share a core creative impulse: storytelling and experience design. “When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games.
It came down to a coin toss and maybe getting a camera for Christmas,” Dietsch reflects. He learned programming on a TI‑83 calculator, a skill that later informed his game development.
Whether through film or interactive play, the goal remains the same—to craft an engaging narrative that captivates an audience. In summary, Wolf Haus Games exemplifies how a blend of Hollywood heritage, savvy entrepreneurship, and a dedication to bespoke tooling can enable a tiny team to produce an ambitious, high‑quality title without leaning on generative AI. Their journey from a modest Unreal Engine experiment to a fully funded, globally‑visible project underscores the power of creative resilience, strategic partnerships, and an unwavering belief that a dozen passionate developers can accomplish what many deem impossible.