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 clip, robed followers zip around on pigs, wielding machine guns, before the screen fades to a monstrous, Cthulhu‑like mass of tentacles.

What didn’t make the final cut was the infamous "snake gun," a weapon that emerged from a spontaneous idea by one of the developers’ children. Joe Dietsch, the CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, recounts the moment: “My team member’s son asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooting gun look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool, so within half an hour I built a gun that actually fires snakes.

He was blown away, and the weapon stayed in the game.” That anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit that defines Join Us. The game is an open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers—or invite friends in co‑op mode—to build a 1970s‑style cult. It blends survival mechanics with over‑the‑top, grindhouse‑inspired humor, and its design philosophy is rooted in a highly technical, tool‑first approach.

Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, explains the studio’s ambition: “We set out to be disruptors. We told everyone we could deliver a AAA‑quality experience with just a dozen developers. Most people laughed, saying it was impossible.” The team’s confidence stems from a history of achieving big results on shoestring budgets.

“We come from indie filmmaking,” Abbott notes, “so we’re accustomed to punching far above our weight.” After 80 pitches, Wolf Haus finally secured equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which took stakes in the studio. Wolf Haus’s founding trio brings deep Hollywood pedigree. Dietsch studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson, son of Mel Gibson, who now co‑foundes the studio.

The pair 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 moved on 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 was free to download, and I’d always loved games but felt there was a massive barrier to actually creating something,” he says. He taught himself through YouTube tutorials, built a few tiny prototypes, and eventually settled on a doomsday‑cult concept that merged his love of survival games with grindhouse cinema. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo, showed it to Abbott, and the idea quickly gained momentum. The studio’s narrative director and CFO, Dooma Wendschuh, began his career as a film producer and screenwriter before transitioning to games in the early 2000s.

He founded Sekretagent Productions, providing writing services 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 the sale, Wendschuh bought a remote restaurant on a tiny Canadian island, intending to retire. Yet a sudden call from his old Hollywood‑hill roommate, Michael Abbott, pulled him back into development. "I watched the demo Joe had made, and it blew my mind," Wendschuh recalls, prompting him to join the project.

Through his industry contacts, Wendschuh introduced the team to Reid Schneider, former Warner Bros. Games VP and current head of Raccoon Logic (the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet). Schneider became a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. Funding proved challenging amid a market downturn in 2023.

The team’s first pitches were met with enthusiasm for the concept but skepticism about the timing. After signing with CAA (Creative Artists Agency) and re‑pitching in 2024, Wolf Haus secured a seed round from Lifelike Capital and Krafton.

Wendschuh credits CAA’s representation—alongside veteran agents like Derek Douglas, who had represented him during his twelve‑year game‑development career—as instrumental in closing the deal. Despite the high‑profile backing, the studio remains remarkably lean: only 13 full‑time staff members.

Dietsch emphasizes that the small size is intentional: “We wanted everyone to have a voice, to touch the creative process, and to feel ownership over the final product.” To make such an ambitious open‑world game feasible with a tiny crew, Wolf Haus invested heavily in custom tooling from day one. "Every system must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," Dietsch explains. The first year of development was split between ideating gameplay and building the internal toolchain that would later allow the team to expand features across a six‑kilometre‑square map without the project collapsing under its own weight. The equity funding model gave the studio the runway to perfect these tools.

Krafton and Lifelike’s investment was used to self‑fund development, with only a modest amount of project finance earmarked for marketing. "Our investors want the studio to increase its enterprise value, so they support us in building extensive toolsets," says Wendschuh. "When we encounter a problem we can’t solve, we simply build a tool to address it. It may slow us down in the short term, but it enables us to achieve a AAA‑scale experience with a micro‑team." When asked about generative AI—a hot topic in the industry—Dietsch is unequivocal: the studio does not employ AI for creative work.

"We believe a human touch is essential. Using an AI to generate assets would defeat the purpose of why we love making games," he says. Wendschuh adds that the only AI tools they use are mundane productivity aids for scheduling and email, not for art, design, or writing. Krafton, which has recently branded itself as an "AI‑first" company, actually discouraged Wolf Haus from using generative AI in development, preferring to back a studio that relied on handcrafted content.

This stance mirrors that of Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio that publicly rejected AI‑driven pipelines. Wendschuh stresses that AI threatens creative jobs: voice actors, artists, and writers could see their roles diminished.

Consequently, every element of Join Us—from its six‑kilometre‑square hand‑crafted map to its 15,000 voice lines—was produced by human talent. Dietsch reflects on the contrast between filmmaking and game development.

In cinema, an idea can take years to materialise, requiring countless approvals and the involvement of high‑profile talent before a studio greenlights the project. By contrast, a game concept can be prototyped in a single morning and instantly visualised in the engine.

"You can take an idea, drop it into Unreal, and see it right away," he says, describing the exhilarating immediacy that drew him to interactive media. Wendschuh notes that film production is heavily front‑loaded: securing directors, actors, and financing before any shooting begins.

While anyone can technically shoot a backyard movie, breaking through without established names or distribution is rare. Games, however, have far fewer gatekeepers. "You don’t need an A‑list actor or director to make a successful game," he observes, highlighting the democratizing power of interactive entertainment.

Both founders agree that whether you’re crafting a movie or a video game, the core mission remains the same: to tell a story, create an experience, and engage an audience. Dietsch recalls his childhood fascination with both mediums, saying, "I wanted to make games or movies, and it boiled down to a coin toss and a Christmas camera. I learned programming on a TI‑83, so creating interactive experiences has always been part of me." The journey from that early curiosity to a full‑scale, cult‑themed sandbox built by a dozen passionate creators demonstrates how Hollywood sensibilities, savvy entrepreneurship, and a commitment to handcrafted artistry can converge to produce something truly disruptive.