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 preview, robed followers charge on pig‑back, wielding machine guns, before the screen fades to an image of colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles.
What didn’t make the cut, according to Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games—is the infamous snake gun. "One of our team member’s kids asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooting gun look like?’" Dietsch recalls. "We had a rapid‑prototype tool that lets us scale weapons in minutes, so I whipped up a snake‑gun in about thirty minutes. The kid was thrilled, and the weapon stayed in the final build." That anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit of Join Us, an open‑world sandbox survival game where players can recruit followers—or invite friends in co‑op mode—to build a 1970s‑style cult.
It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first mindset, which has enabled a small crew to deliver a high‑fidelity experience that would normally require a much larger staff. "We set out to be disruptors," says Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer.
"We told everyone, ‘We don’t need a hundred‑person team; twelve skilled people can do it.’ Most people laughed and called us naïve. But we’ve spent our careers punching far above our weight in indie film, so we knew how to stretch limited resources. After 80 pitches we finally secured equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, which now hold stakes in Wolf Haus." The founders’ Hollywood roots run 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 he turned his attention to Star Citizen.
Abbott later produced movies such as Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us began as a side project for Dietsch, who was tinkering with Unreal Engine after discovering it could be downloaded for free.
"I’d loved games my whole life, but the barrier to actually creating something felt huge. I started learning Unreal from YouTube tutorials and built a few tiny prototypes," he explains. Though he had no formal game‑dev background, Dietsch soon crafted a proof‑of‑concept that blended survival mechanics with grindhouse‑style cult horror—a concept that resonated with both his love of cinema and interactive storytelling.
He presented the demo to Abbott, who then passed it to Dooma Wendschuh, the studio’s CFO and narrative director. Wendschuh’s career began in film as a producer and screenwriter before he shifted to games in the early 2000s, founding Sekretagent Productions, a writing house that contributed narrative content to titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. Later, he launched several tech ventures, most notably Ebbu, a cannabis‑formulation company that 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.
"I thought I’d spend my days on the beach with my dog," he says. Yet a call from his old Hollywood‑hill roommate, Michael Abbott, pulled him back into the industry. Abbott told him a friend had built a video game, and when Wendschuh saw Dietsch’s demo, he was convinced to join the effort. Wendschuh recruited Reid Schneider—formerly a vice‑president at Warner Bros.
Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet—as a strategic advisor. Schneider, in turn, brought on Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a veteran programmer from Ubisoft Montreal, to serve as chief technology officer. With this core team in place, the next hurdle was financing, a daunting task given the 2023 industry downturn. The studio began pitching in the summer of 2023, initially receiving polite interest but little commitment.
After partnering with CAA (Creative Artists Agency) in Los Angeles and refining their pitch, they returned to investors in 2024 and finally closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton. Wendschuh credits CAA’s connections—especially agent Derek Douglas, who had represented him during his twelve‑year game‑development stint—and the credibility of seasoned veterans like Schneider and Chartrand for unlocking those deals.
Despite the high‑profile backing, Join Us remains a lean operation with just 13 full‑time staff members. "From day one we scoped the project realistically and insisted on a small‑team culture where everyone’s voice matters," says Dietsch.
To make such an ambitious open‑world possible, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling early on. "Any system we build must be scalable and debuggable by a single person. We spent the first year simultaneously designing gameplay and engineering the tools that would let a tiny team expand the world without the project collapsing under its own weight." The equity funding model gave Wolf Haus the runway to perfect those tools.
Krafton and Lifelike’s capital financed the entire development, allowing the studio to remain self‑sufficient. "Our investors benefit from the studio’s enterprise value, so they encourage us to build reusable tools," Wendschuh notes. "When we hit a problem we can’t solve, we create a tool to fix it.
It may slow us down short‑term, but it enables a small crew to deliver a AAA‑level experience." When asked about generative AI—a hot topic in game development—both Dietsch and Wendschuh were unequivocal: the studio does not rely on AI for creative work. "We believe a human touch is essential. Using AI to generate assets would defeat the purpose of why we love making games," Dietsch says. Wendschuh adds that the only AI they employ are mundane productivity tools for calendar management and email drafting, not for art, design, or narrative.
Krafton, which markets itself as an "AI‑first" company, actually discouraged Wolf Haus from employing generative AI in the creative pipeline. This stance mirrors that of Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio that publicly rejected the parent’s AI pivot.
Both studios argue that AI threatens jobs for voice actors, artists, and other creatives. Accordingly, Join Us features a fully handcrafted six‑kilometre‑square map and 15,000 voice lines recorded by human performers—a point of pride for the team. Dietsch reflects on the differences between filmmaking and game development. In film, an idea can take years to materialise, requiring multiple approvals, casting, and scheduling.
In games, however, an inspiration can be prototyped within hours and tested instantly in the engine. "That immediacy is intoxicating," he says.
Wendschuh agrees, noting that film production is heavily front‑loaded with securing high‑profile talent and studio green‑lights, whereas games face fewer gatekeepers. "You don’t need an A‑list actor or director to make a successful game; the barriers to entry are lower, which democratises the medium." Both founders trace their passion back to childhood. "When I was six, I wanted to make movies or games—it was a coin toss that landed on a camera for Christmas," Dietsch recalls.
He learned programming on a TI‑83 calculator, blending technical curiosity with storytelling from an early age. "Whether you’re making a film or a game, you’re delivering an experience, telling a story, and engaging an audience.
The medium changes, but the creative impulse stays the same." Join Us is now poised to launch as a bold, unconventional title that showcases what a tightly knit, tool‑driven team can achieve without leaning on generative AI. It stands as a testament to Hollywood’s indie spirit, the strategic use of venture capital, and the power of handcrafted design in an era increasingly dominated by automated content creation.