The trailer for Join Us first caught the public’s eye during the Xbox Showcase in June, unveiling a darkly comedic cooperative cult simulation where robed followers charge on pig‑back, wielding machine guns before the screen cuts to a monstrous, Cthulhu‑like mass of tentacles. One of the most memorable, and absurd, moments that didn’t make the final cut was the appearance of a "snake gun"—a weapon that literally fires snakes. According to Joe Dietsch, the CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, the idea came from a teammate’s child. "His son asked, ‘What would a snake gun look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool that lets us scale a weapon in minutes, so I built one in about half an hour.
The kid was thrilled, and the gun stayed in the game," Dietsch recalls. 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—to build a 1970s‑style cult empire. It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first mindset, which has enabled 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 ambition: "We set out to be disruptors.
We told everyone we could build a AAA‑level experience with just twelve people. Most people laughed, thinking it was impossible." The team’s confidence stems from a background in indie filmmaking, where they learned to achieve big results on shoestring budgets.
"We come from indie film circles and are used to punching well above our weight," Abbott explains. After eighty pitches, Wolf Haus finally secured equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which took stakes in the studio. 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 originally 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 originated from Dietsch’s experimentation with Unreal Engine. "Unreal Engine is free to download, and I’d always loved games but felt blocked from creating my own," he says.
He taught himself through YouTube tutorials, built a few modest prototypes, and eventually settled on a doomsday cult simulator that merged his love of survival games with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. The concept became a proof‑of‑concept demo that he showed to Abbott, who then presented it to Dooma, a partner studio. Dooma Wendschuh, Wolf Haus’s chief financial officer and narrative director, began his career as a film producer and screenwriter before transitioning to games in the early 2000s.
He founded Sekretagent Productions, providing narrative work for titles like Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. Later, he launched several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis‑formulation company Ebbu, which sold for C$430 million (about $330 million USD).
After selling Ebbu, Wendschuh bought a remote island restaurant in Canada, planning a quiet retirement. Yet a sudden call from his old Hollywood Hills roommate, Michael Abbott, pulled him back into the industry. "Joe’s demo blew my mind and convinced me to come out of retirement," Wendschuh says. Through Wendschuh’s network, the studio recruited Reid Schneider—formerly a vice‑president at Warner Bros.
Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, the makers of Journey to the Savage Planet—as a strategic advisor, and Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. With the core team solidified, the next hurdle was financing, which proved difficult amid an industry downturn in 2023. After initial outreach and later representation by Creative Artists Agency (CAA), the studio resumed pitching in 2024 and finally closed a seed round with Krafton and Lifelike Capital.
Abbott credits CAA’s influence and the presence of seasoned veterans like Schneider and Chartrand for the successful raise. "Our agent Derek Douglas had represented me for twelve years and previously headed the video‑game department at William Morris," Wendschuh notes.
Despite the high‑profile backing, Join Us remains a boutique effort: only thirteen full‑time staff members are working on it. 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 such an ambitious open‑world game feasible with a lean crew, the studio invested heavily in internal tooling from the outset. "Every system must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," Dietsch explains.
"We spent the first year simultaneously designing gameplay and building the tools that would let us expand the world without the project collapsing under its own weight." The equity funding model gave Wolf Haus the runway to perfect these tools. Krafton and Lifelike’s capital financed development outright, allowing the team to self‑fund the game while later taking on modest project finance for marketing. "Equity investors are motivated to increase the studio’s enterprise value, so they support our tool‑building ethos," says Wendschuh. "Whenever we encounter a problem we can’t solve, we build a custom tool.
It may slow development in the short term, but it enables us to achieve AAA‑level quality with a tiny team." In an industry increasingly obsessed with generative AI, Wolf Haus deliberately avoids using it for creative work. "We believe a game needs a human touch.
Hand‑crafting experiences is why we get up in the morning," Dietsch states. Wendschuh adds that the studio only uses AI for administrative tasks like calendar management and email drafting. Even Krafton, which has marketed itself as an "AI‑first" company, required assurances that Wolf Haus would not rely on generative AI for core development. This stance mirrors that of Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio that publicly rejected AI‑driven production.
The commitment to human‑made content is evident in the game’s scale: a six‑kilometre‑square map built entirely by hand and 15,000 voice lines recorded by real actors. "For a small indie title, preserving that level of craftsmanship was non‑negotiable," Dietsch emphasizes.
Transitioning from film to games has given Dietsch a sense of immediacy he never experienced on a movie set. In film, an idea can take years to materialise, requiring countless approvals before a director ever sees it on set. In contrast, a game concept can be prototyped in a single morning, placed into the engine, and instantly visualised.
"You can see the result right away and iterate on the spot—that’s exhilarating," he says. Wendschuh points out that filmmaking is heavily front‑loaded: securing a high‑profile director or star is often the biggest hurdle before a project even begins. While anyone can shoot a low‑budget movie with a backyard camera, breaking through without marquee names or distribution is rare. Games, however, have far fewer gatekeepers.
"You don’t need an A‑list actor or director to launch a successful game," he notes, highlighting the democratising power of interactive media. Both mediums, though, share a common creative impulse: telling stories that engage audiences. "When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games—it was a coin toss.
I got a camera for Christmas and learned to program on a TI‑83. Whether you’re making a film or a game, you’re crafting an experience, delivering a narrative, and pulling people into a world. That core purpose hasn’t changed," Dietsch concludes.