The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous co‑op cult simulator. In the clip, robed followers zip around on pigs, unleash a hail of machine‑gun fire, and the sequence culminates with an image of colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles. One detail that didn’t make the final edit was the infamous "snake gun," a weapon that Joe Dietsch, the CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, says was born from a child’s imagination. "My team member’s son asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooting gun look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool that lets us scale weapons in minutes, so I whipped up a snake‑gun in about half an hour.
He was thrilled, and the weapon stayed in the game," Dietsch recalls. This anecdote encapsulates the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox survival experience where players can recruit followers—or friends in co‑op mode—to join a 1970s‑style cult. Beyond the bizarre premise, the development story is notable for its technology‑first mindset, which has enabled a high‑fidelity title to be built by a remarkably small crew.
Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, explains the team’s philosophy: "We set out to be disruptors. Everyone told us that a twelve‑person studio couldn’t produce a game of this scope, but we knew from indie filmmaking that you can punch far above your weight when you focus on tools and efficiency." The studio’s journey to funding was anything but smooth.
After 80 pitches, Wolf Haus finally secured equity investment from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which took a stake in the company. The founders’ Hollywood pedigree played a role in opening doors. 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 house founded by Chris Roberts before his transition to Star Citizen.
Abbott later produced films such as Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us originated from Dietsch’s early experiments in Unreal Engine. "Unreal was free to download, and I’d been a gamer and movie‑buff for years, but the barrier to actually creating something felt huge.
I started watching YouTube tutorials and tinkering, eventually building a couple of small games," he says. The concept that stuck with him was a doomsday cult simulator that blended survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics—essentially a love letter to the movies and games he adored. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo, assuming it would hit a technical wall at some point.
When he showed the demo to Abbott, the latter immediately took it to Dooma, a partner studio. 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 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 C$430 million. After selling Ebbu, Wendschuh bought a remote island restaurant in Canada, planning a quiet retirement. Yet a call from his old Hollywood‑hill roommate, Michael Abbott, changed his plans.
"He said a friend had made a video game and wanted my opinion. I watched Joe’s demo and it blew my mind, so I came out of retirement," Wendschuh recounts.
He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, a former Warner Bros. Games VP now heading Raccoon Logic, and Schneider recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. With the core team in place, the next hurdle was financing during a market downturn.
The studio began pitching in summer 2023, initially without representation. After signing with Creative Artists Agency (CAA) in Los Angeles, they returned to the circuit in 2024 and finally closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton. Wendschuh credits the CAA connection—whose roster includes titles like 007: First Light—as well as the credibility of veterans Schneider and Chartrand for unlocking those deals.
Despite the high‑profile backing, Wolf Haus deliberately kept the development crew tiny: thirteen full‑time staff members. "We wanted a small‑team culture where everyone has a voice and can touch every aspect of the creative process," Dietsch explains. To make such an ambitious open‑world possible, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling from day one. "Any system in the game must be scalable and debuggable by a single person.
We built a toolkit that lets us expand features across a massive map without the project collapsing under its own weight," he says. The first year of development was therefore split between ideating gameplay and constructing the underlying tools that would support future projects.
The equity funding model gave Wolf Haus the runway to perfect those tools. "Krafton and Lifelike’s investment essentially self‑funded the game.
We’re now adding a modest amount of project finance for marketing, but the core development was covered by their equity," Wendschuh notes. This structure aligns investor incentives with the studio’s long‑term value creation, encouraging the team to keep building reusable tools even when it slows immediate progress. When asked about generative AI, a hot topic in the industry, Dietsch is unequivocal: the studio does not use it for creative work.
"We believe a human touch is essential. Turning development over to an AI would defeat the reason we get up every morning," he says.
Wendschuh adds that the only AI they employ are mundane productivity tools for scheduling and email, not for art, design, or narrative. Interestingly, Krafton—positioned as an "AI‑first" company—insisted that Wolf Haus avoid generative AI in the creative pipeline, mirroring a similar stance taken by Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio.
The team’s commitment to handcrafted content extends to the game’s world and voice work. The six‑kilometre‑square map was built entirely by hand, and all 15,000 voice lines were recorded by human actors, a point Dietsch emphasizes as a badge of pride for an indie studio.
Dietsch also reflects on the contrast between filmmaking and game development. In film, a concept can take years to reach the set, requiring countless approvals and the involvement of high‑profile talent.
In games, an idea can be prototyped in a morning, placed into the engine, and instantly tested. "That immediacy is exhilarating," he says. Wendschuh observes that film production is heavily front‑loaded, with intense set‑time and a reliance on a few marquee names to secure financing.
While anyone can shoot a backyard movie, the odds of breaking out without star power or distribution are slim. By comparison, the barriers to entry for games are lower, allowing small teams to reach a global audience without A‑list talent. Both creators agree that the core impulse—telling stories and delivering experiences—remains the same across mediums. "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. I learned to program on a TI‑83, so the passion has always been there," Dietsch reflects. He concludes that whether through film or interactive media, the goal is to engage an audience, convey a narrative, and spark emotion, a timeless creative pursuit that transcends the platform.