You may remember seeing the Join Us trailer during the Xbox Showcase in June. The clip introduced a darkly humorous co‑op cult simulator where robed followers ride pigs, wield machine guns, and the finale features colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles.
What didn’t make the cut, according to Joe Dietsch—CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games—was the infamous snake gun. "One of the developers’ kids asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooting gun look like?’ We had a modular weapon system, so in about thirty minutes I built a gun that fires serpents. The kid went nuts, and the weapon stayed in the final build," Dietsch recalls.
That anecdote captures the chaotic, over‑the‑top gameplay that Join Us promises: an open‑world sandbox survival where you can recruit followers—or invite friends in co‑op—to join your 1970s‑style cult. It also illustrates the studio’s technology‑first mindset, which has allowed a small group to produce a high‑fidelity title that would normally require a far larger staff. "We wanted to be disruptors," says Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s COO.
"Everyone told us a twelve‑person team couldn’t deliver a game of this scope. We’d spent years on indie films, learning to punch far above our weight, so we knew it was possible," Abbott explains.
After 80 pitch meetings, the studio finally secured equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which took stakes in Wolf Haus. 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 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 began as a side project for Dietsch while he was tinkering with Unreal Engine.
"Unreal was free to download, and I’d always loved games, but the barrier to actually creating something felt huge. I started learning from YouTube tutorials and built a few tiny prototypes," he says. Even without prior development experience, Dietsch managed to finish a couple of small games before deciding to tackle something bigger.
The concept that kept pulling him back was a doomsday cult simulator that blended survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics—a perfect marriage of his film and gaming passions. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo, assuming he would eventually hit a technical wall. When he showed it to Abbott, the latter 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, providing writing for 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 roughly C$430 million. After cashing out, Wendschuh bought a remote restaurant on a tiny Canadian island, intending to retire. Yet a call from his old Hollywood‑hills roommate, Michael Abbott, changed his plans. "He sent me a video of Joe’s game, and it blew my mind.
I came out of retirement to help," Wendschuh says. He introduced the project to Reid Schneider, former VP at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, who became a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, formerly of Ubisoft Montreal, as chief technology officer. With the core team in place, the next hurdle was financing—especially during a market downturn in 2023.
Initial pitches generated interest but also skepticism. After partnering with CAA in Los Angeles and re‑pitching in 2024, Wolf Haus finally closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton.
"Having CAA, which also represents titles like 007: First Light, and veteran advisors gave us credibility," notes Wendschuh. Despite the high‑profile backing, the studio remains lean: only 13 full‑time staff members. Dietsch emphasizes that a small, voice‑rich team fosters a unified creative vision.
To make a large‑scale game feasible with such a headcount, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling early on. "Every system must be scalable and debuggable by a single person. We built a toolkit that lets us expand features across an open world without the project collapsing under its own weight," he explains. The first year of development was thus split between ideating gameplay and engineering the tools that would later support it and any future projects.
The equity funding model gave Wolf Haus the runway to perfect these 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 stakes," says Wendschuh.
He adds that the investors’ interest in enterprise value aligns with the studio’s ethos of building reusable tools rather than quick fixes. When asked about generative AI, Dietsch is unequivocal: the studio does not rely on it 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," he states.
Wendschuh concedes they use AI for mundane tasks like calendar management and email drafting, but not for any artistic or design decisions. Krafton, despite branding itself as an "AI‑first" company, also insisted that Wolf Haus avoid generative AI in the creative pipeline, mirroring a similar stance taken by its subsidiary Neon Giant. The studio’s commitment to handcrafted content extends to the game’s six‑kilometre‑square map, which was manually built, and its 15,000 voice lines, all recorded by human actors.
Dietsch highlights a key advantage of game development over film: immediacy. In cinema, an idea can take years to materialise, requiring studio approvals, casting, and extensive pre‑production. In contrast, a game concept can be prototyped within hours and tested directly in the engine. "You can have an idea at breakfast and see it in the world by lunch," he says, noting the exhilarating speed of iteration.
Wendschuh points out that film production is heavily front‑loaded, with massive costs tied to securing A‑list talent and studio green‑lights. While anyone can shoot a low‑budget movie, breaking through without marquee names is rare. Games, however, have fewer gatekeepers; a small team can reach a global audience without celebrity endorsements. Both men agree that the core creative impulse—telling stories and delivering experiences—remains the same across mediums.
"When I was six, I wanted to make either movies or games. It boiled down to a coin toss and maybe getting a camera for Christmas. I learned programming on a TI‑83, so both worlds have always felt like home," Dietsch reflects.
"Whether you’re crafting a film or a game, you’re shaping an experience, telling a story, and engaging an audience. The tools change, but the goal stays the same.