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 ride pigs, unleash machine guns, and the sequence culminates with a monstrous, Cthulhu‑like mass of tentacles.
What didn’t make the edit, according to Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games—was the infamous snake gun. "One of the team members’ kids suggested a snake‑shooting weapon," Dietsch recounts.
"We had a rapid‑prototyping tool for firearms, so within about thirty minutes I built a gun that fires snakes. The kid went wild, and the weapon stayed in the final build." That anecdote captures the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers—or invite friends in co‑op mode—to join a 1970s‑style cult.
It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first mindset, which has allowed a tiny group of developers to produce a high‑fidelity title 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 hands; twelve people can do this.’ Most people laughed, calling it impossible. But we’ve spent our careers punching far above our weight in indie film, so we knew how to stretch a shoestring budget. After 80 pitches we finally secured equity investment from Krafton and Lifelike Capital." The founders’ Hollywood pedigree runs 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 Chris Roberts founded before turning to Star Citizen. Abbott later produced movies such as Fight for ’84 starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us originated from Dietsch’s tinkering in Unreal Engine.
"Unreal was free to download, and I’d always loved games but felt blocked by the cost and complexity of creating one," he explains. He taught himself through YouTube tutorials, built a few tiny prototypes, and eventually gravitated toward a doomsday cult simulator—a concept that merged his love of survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. He built a proof‑of‑concept, expecting to hit a technical wall soon.
When he showed the demo to Abbott, the latter took it to Dooma, the studio’s early‑stage partner. Dooma’s CFO and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, began his career as a film producer and screenwriter before moving into games in the early 2000s, contributing writing to titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. He later founded several tech ventures, including the cannabis formulation firm Ebbu, which sold for C$430 million.
After a brief retirement on a remote Canadian island, Wendschuh was pulled back by an old Hollywood‑hill roommate, Michael Abbott, who sent him a video of Dietsch’s prototype. "The game blew my mind and convinced me to come out of retirement," Wendschuh says.
He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, former VP at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, and together they recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. Funding proved challenging amid a market downturn. The team began pitching in summer 2023, initially receiving polite interest but little commitment.
After partnering with CAA in Los Angeles and re‑pitching in 2024, they finally closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton. Wendschuh credits CAA’s clout—its roster includes titles like 007: First Light—and the presence of veteran advisors Schneider and Chartrand for opening doors. Despite the high ambitions, Join Us is being built by just 13 full‑time staff members. "We entered the project knowing exactly what we wanted to achieve, and we deliberately kept the team small so every voice mattered and the final product felt like a collective creation," says Dietsch.
To make such a scope feasible, the studio invested heavily in custom tools early on. "Any system we build must be scalable and debuggable by a single developer," Dietsch notes.
The first year of development was split between designing gameplay and engineering the toolset that would sustain an open‑world map without collapsing under its own weight. This tooling philosophy also aligns with their equity‑funded model: Krafton and Lifelike’s investments have been used to self‑finance the game, allowing the studio to prioritize tool creation over short‑term deadlines.
When asked about generative AI, the team draws a firm line. "We don’t use generative AI for any creative work," Dietsch states plainly. "Our process relies on human intuition and craftsmanship; handing it over to an algorithm would defeat the purpose of why we love making games." Wendschuh adds, "We have a few AI subscriptions for mundane tasks like calendar management, but nothing touches the creative pipeline. In fact, Krafton specifically required us to avoid AI‑generated content, even though the parent company markets itself as an ‘AI‑first’ organization." The commitment to human‑made assets extends to the game's world and audio.
The six‑kilometre‑square map is hand‑crafted, and all 15,000 voice lines were recorded by real actors—an effort the team deemed essential despite their indie status. Dietsch reflects on the contrast between film and games: "In film, an idea can sit on a page for years before you ever see it on set, and you need a host of A‑list talent and studio approval to move forward. In games, you can prototype an idea in the morning, drop it into the engine, and see it instantly. That immediacy is exhilarating." Wendschuh agrees, noting that movies are front‑loaded with pre‑production hurdles, whereas games face fewer gatekeepers.
"Anyone can rent a camera and shoot a backyard movie, but without big names or distribution it rarely reaches an audience. A small team can launch a successful game because the barriers are lower; you don’t need a Hollywood star to attract players." Both mediums, however, share a core creative drive: storytelling and immersive experiences. "When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games—it boiled down to a coin toss and whether I got a camera for Christmas," Dietsch recalls. "I learned programming on a TI‑83, so games have always been part of my DNA.
Whether you’re crafting a film or a game, you’re delivering a story, an experience, and that fundamental goal never changes."