The trailer for Join Us first appeared during the Xbox Showcase in June, offering a glimpse of a darkly humorous co‑op cult simulation where robed followers ride pigs, fire machine guns, and eventually confront colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles. One element that didn’t make the final cut was the infamous snake gun, a quirky weapon that Joe Dietsch, the CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, says was born from a child’s off‑hand suggestion. "One of our team member’s kids asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooting gun look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool that let us spin up a new firearm in about thirty minutes, so I built it on the fly.
The kid was thrilled, and the snake gun stuck around in the final build," Dietsch recalls. This anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit that defines Join Us—a sprawling open‑world sandbox where players can recruit followers or team up with friends to run a 1970s‑style cult.
It also highlights the studio’s tech‑first mindset, which has enabled a small crew to produce a high‑fidelity experience that would traditionally require a much larger staff. Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, summed up their ambition: "We set out to be disruptors. Everyone told us a twelve‑person team couldn’t deliver a game of this scope, but we knew from indie filmmaking that a lean crew can punch well above its weight." After 80 pitches, 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 actor‑director 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 his shift to Star Citizen. Abbott later produced films such as Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us began as a hobby project for Dietsch in Unreal Engine.
"I discovered Unreal was free to download and started tinkering after watching YouTube tutorials," he says. Though he had never built a game before, he managed to create a few small prototypes before deciding to tackle something bigger: a doomsday cult simulator that fused survival mechanics with grindhouse cinema aesthetics. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo and showed it to Abbott, who then introduced it to Dooma, a production partner. Dooma Wendschuh, Wolf Haus’s CFO and narrative director, entered the gaming world after a career in film production and screenwriting.
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 restaurant on a tiny Canadian island, intending to retire. Yet a call from his old Hollywood Hills roommate, Michael Abbott, pulled him back into development.
"When I saw Joe’s demo, it blew my mind and convinced me to come out of retirement," Wendschuh says. Through Abbott’s network, the team recruited Reid Schneider, former VP at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic (the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet), as a strategic advisor. Schneider also brought on Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, to serve as chief technology officer.
Funding proved challenging amid a market downturn. The studio began pitching in summer 2023, faced with skeptical investors, but persisted.
By partnering with CAA (Creative Artists Agency) and leveraging connections like Derek Douglas—who had represented Wendschuh during his decade‑long game‑development stint—the team secured a seed round from Lifelike Capital and Krafton in 2024. Despite the heavyweight backing, Wolf Haus kept its headcount tiny—13 full‑time staff members. "We wanted every person to have a voice and to touch the creative process," Dietsch explains. To make a large‑scale open world feasible for such a small crew, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling early on.
"Any system we build must be scalable and debuggable by a single developer," says Dietsch. The first year of development was split between ideating gameplay and constructing the internal tools that would keep the project from collapsing under its own weight. The equity funding model gave the studio the runway to perfect these tools. "Krafton and Lifelike’s investments funded the entire development, with a small amount of project finance later used for marketing," Wendschuh notes.
Because the investors’ returns are tied to the studio’s enterprise value, they encourage the team to keep building reusable tools, even if it slows short‑term progress. This philosophy underpins Wolf Haus’s approach to problem‑solving: when a hurdle appears, they build a bespoke tool rather than outsource or cut corners.
When asked about generative AI, Dietsch is unequivocal: the studio does not employ 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 says. Wendschuh adds that the only AI they use is for mundane tasks like calendar management and email replies.
Interestingly, Krafton, which markets itself as an "AI‑first" company, explicitly required Wolf Haus to 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 massive six‑kilometre‑square map and its 15,000 voice lines, all recorded by human actors.
"Even as a small indie, we felt it was crucial to keep the experience authentic and human‑driven," Dietsch emphasizes. Dietsch also reflects on the differences between film and game development. In cinema, an idea can take years to materialise, subject to studio approvals and scheduling. In contrast, a game concept can be prototyped within hours: "You can have an idea this morning, drop it into the engine, and see it instantly.
That immediacy is exhilarating." Wendschuh points out that film production is heavily front‑loaded, requiring high‑profile talent and studio green‑lights before any shooting begins. While anyone can technically shoot a backyard movie, breaking through without star power or distribution is rare.
Games, however, have far fewer gatekeepers; a small team can launch a successful title without A‑list actors or directors. Both mediums, he says, share a core creative impulse: telling stories and delivering experiences that resonate with audiences.
In sum, Join Us is a testament to what a tightly knit, technically adept team can achieve when they blend Hollywood storytelling sensibilities with indie‑game resourcefulness—without leaning on generative AI. The result is a quirky, ambitious cult simulator that promises players a uniquely handcrafted adventure.