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 eventually confront massive Cthulhu‑like tentacles. One of the most memorable moments that didn’t make the final cut was the appearance of a snake‑shooting weapon, a feature that Joe Dietsch, the studio’s CEO and creative director, says was born from a simple suggestion by a team member’s child. "His son asked, ‘What would a snake gun look like?’ and because we had a modular weapon system, I was able to prototype a snake‑firing gun in about thirty minutes.
The kid was thrilled, and the weapon stayed in the game," Dietsch recalls. That anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit that defines Join Us. The game is an open‑world sandbox survival experience set in a 1970s‑style cult, where players can recruit both AI followers and friends in co‑op mode. It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑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, describes the team’s philosophy as deliberately disruptive. "We told everyone we could build a AAA‑quality experience with just twelve people. Most people laughed and said it was impossible," he says.
Their confidence stems from a background in indie filmmaking, where they learned to achieve big results on shoestring budgets. Wolf Haus’s founders bring deep Hollywood connections to the table.
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 started by Chris Roberts before he moved on to Star Citizen. Abbott later produced films such as Fight for ’84 with Jamie Foxx. These entertainment‑industry roots gave the team a unique perspective on storytelling and production.
The genesis of Join Us traces back to Dietsch’s early experiments in Unreal Engine. "I discovered that Unreal was free to download and started learning it from YouTube tutorials," he explains.
Although he had never built a game before, he managed to create a few small prototypes before committing to a larger vision. The idea of a doomsday cult simulator appealed to him because it fused his love of survival mechanics, grindhouse cinema, and the narrative depth of film into a single intellectual property.
To prove the concept, Dietsch built a proof‑of‑concept demo and showed it to Abbott, who then introduced it to Dooma, a production partner. Dooma’s CFO and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, had previously worked as a screenwriter and producer before moving into games, contributing writing to titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins.
Wendschuh later founded several tech ventures, including the cannabis‑formulation company Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million. After a brief retirement on a remote Canadian island, a call from his old Hollywood‑hill roommate Michael Abbott pulled him back into game development.
Impressed by the demo, Wendschuh recruited former Warner Bros. Games VP Reid Schneider as a strategic advisor and hired Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, an ex‑Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. Securing financing proved challenging amid a market downturn in 2023‑24.
After 80 pitches, Wolf Haus finally closed a seed round with Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both taking equity stakes. The partnership with CAA, which also represents titles like 007: First Light, provided additional credibility. "Our agent Derek Douglas had represented me for over a decade and helped open doors with investors who understood the value of a small, tool‑driven studio," says Wendschuh.
Today, Wolf Haus operates with just 13 full‑time staff members. The small‑team ethos is intentional: everyone has a voice, touches the creative process, and feels ownership of the final product. To make a large‑scale open world feasible with such a lean crew, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling from the outset. "Every system we build must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," Dietsch notes.
The first year of development was split between ideating gameplay and constructing the internal toolchain that would keep the project from collapsing under its own weight. Funding from Krafton and Lifelike has been used primarily to finance development, allowing the studio to remain self‑sufficient. "Because our investors hold equity, they are motivated to see the studio’s enterprise value grow, which means they support our tool‑building philosophy," explains Wendschuh. This approach sometimes slows short‑term progress but enables a tiny team to produce a game of this magnitude.
When asked about the role of generative AI, the team is unequivocal: they do not employ it for creative work. "We believe a human touch is essential to game design.
Using AI to generate assets would undermine why we get up every morning," Dietsch says. Wendschuh adds that while they use AI for mundane tasks like calendar management, it never touches the artistic side of development. Interestingly, Krafton—publicly positioning itself as an "AI‑first" company—explicitly required Wolf Haus to avoid generative AI in the creative pipeline, mirroring a similar stance taken by Krafton‑owned Neon Giant. The commitment to handcrafted content extends to the game’s world and audio.
The six‑kilometre‑square map is entirely hand‑built, and the 15,000 voice lines were recorded by human actors, not AI‑generated voices. "Even as a tiny indie, we felt it was crucial to preserve that level of human craftsmanship," Dietsch emphasizes. Dietsch also reflects on the differences between filmmaking and game development. In film, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring approvals, casting, and massive budgets before a director ever sees a set.
In contrast, a game idea can be prototyped in a single morning, placed directly into the engine, and iterated upon instantly. This immediacy, he argues, lowers the barriers to entry and democratizes creative expression. While anyone can shoot a backyard video, the odds of that film achieving commercial success without star power or distribution are slim.
By comparison, the video‑game market offers a higher probability of success for small, independent teams because gatekeepers are fewer and distribution platforms are more accessible. Both mediums, however, share a common creative impulse: telling stories and delivering experiences that resonate with audiences. "When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games.
It came down to a coin toss and a camera for Christmas. I learned to program on a TI‑83, so I’ve always been drawn to both," Dietsch muses.
Whether through film or interactive entertainment, the ultimate goal remains the same—crafting compelling narratives that engage and move people.