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 ride on pigs, fire machine guns, and the sequence culminates with a monstrous, Cthulhu‑like mass of tentacles.
What didn’t make the 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 imagination. "One of the team members’ sons asked, ‘What would a snake‑shooter look like?’ We had a rapid‑prototyping tool that let us spin up a new gun in about thirty minutes, so I built one that actually fires snakes. The kid went nuts, and the weapon stayed in the final build," Dietsch recalls.
This 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 mode—to join a 1970s‑style doomsday cult. Beyond the off‑the‑wall mechanics, the game is also a showcase for the studio’s technology‑first philosophy, which has allowed 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, explains the mindset: "We set out to be disruptors. Everyone told us it was impossible to build a game of this scope with just twelve people, but we had already proven we could punch far above our weight in indie film." The Wolf Haus founders bring deep Hollywood connections to the table.
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 his transition to Star Citizen. Abbott later produced movies 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 always loved games but felt there was a massive barrier to creating my own," he says. After teaching himself through YouTube tutorials, he built a few small prototypes before settling on the idea of a doomsday cult simulator—a concept that merged his love for survival games with grindhouse cinema aesthetics.
He crafted a proof‑of‑concept demo, showed it to Abbott, and the pair began to flesh out the vision. The studio’s financial backbone was assembled after an arduous 80‑pitch marathon that finally attracted equity investment from Krafton and Lifelike Capital. Both investors took stakes in Wolf Haus, providing the seed money needed to scale development. Key to the team’s formation was Dooma Wendschuh, who serves as chief financial officer and narrative director.
Wendschuh’s career began in film production and screenwriting before he pivoted to video‑game writing in the early 2000s, founding Sekretagent Productions, a studio that supplied narrative work for titles such as Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins. In the 2010s he launched several tech ventures, most notably the cannabis‑formulation company Ebbu, which later sold for roughly C$430 million (about $330 million USD). After selling Ebbu, Wendschuh bought a remote restaurant on a tiny Canadian island, intending to retire and enjoy a quiet life. That plan was interrupted when an old Hollywood‑hill roommate, Michael Abbott, called with an unexpected opportunity: a friend had built a video game prototype.
Curious, Wendschuh watched Dietsch’s demo, was blown away, and decided to come out of retirement. He introduced the project to Reid Schneider—former vice‑president at Warner Bros. Games and now head of Raccoon Logic, the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet—who became a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, a former Ubisoft Montreal programmer, as chief technology officer. Securing funding proved challenging amid a broader industry downturn.
The team began pitching in summer 2023, receiving positive feedback but also skepticism. After enlisting the Creative Artists Agency (CAA) as representation and refining their pitch throughout 2024, they finally closed a seed round with Lifelike Capital and Krafton.
Wendschuh credits CAA’s clout—its roster includes titles like 007: First Light—and the presence of seasoned veterans such as Schneider and Chartrand for opening doors that might otherwise have remained closed. What truly sets Join Us apart is the scale of its ambition relative to its headcount.
With only 13 full‑time staff members, Wolf Haus has deliberately kept the team small to preserve a collaborative atmosphere where every voice matters. Dietsch notes that early in development the studio invested heavily in building internal tools. "If a system is going to exist in the game, it must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," he explains. The first year of development was split between ideation and constructing a robust toolkit that could support an expansive open world without collapsing under its own weight.
The funding model also gave the studio breathing room to perfect those tools. Krafton and Lifelike’s equity investment was used to self‑fund the game’s development, with only a modest amount of project finance earmarked for marketing. This arrangement aligns investor incentives with the studio’s long‑term value creation, encouraging the team to build reusable tools that will serve future projects as well. When asked about the role of generative AI—a hot topic in game development—Dietsch gave a clear answer: none.
"We believe a human touch is essential. Hand‑crafting the experience is why we get up in the morning," he says. Wendschuh adds that while the studio may use AI for mundane tasks like calendar management, it never touches the creative pipeline. Interestingly, Krafton, which has publicly branded itself as an “AI‑first” company, explicitly required Wolf Haus to avoid generative AI in the creative process before committing capital.
This mirrors a similar stance taken by Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio. The commitment to human‑driven creation extends to the game’s assets. The six‑kilometre‑square map is entirely hand‑built, and the 15,000 voice lines were recorded by real actors, not synthetic voices. Dietsch stresses that even as a small indie, preserving that handcrafted authenticity was non‑negotiable.
Dietsch also reflects on the differences between filmmaking and game development. In film, an idea can take years to materialize, subject to layers of approvals, casting, and studio green‑lights. In contrast, a game concept can be prototyped in a single morning, placed into the engine, and instantly tested.
This immediacy fuels his passion for interactive media. Wendschuh observes that traditional Hollywood projects are front‑loaded with massive pre‑production costs and reliance on a handful of high‑profile talent to secure financing.
While anyone can technically shoot a low‑budget movie, breaking through without star power or distribution is rare. Games, however, have a lower barrier to entry and fewer gatekeepers, allowing small teams to reach large audiences without needing A‑list names. Both founders agree that the core creative impulse is the same across mediums: to tell a story, craft an experience, and engage an audience.
Dietsch recalls that as a child he wanted to make either movies or games, and a simple coin toss—plus a Christmas camera—set him on his path. He learned programming on a TI‑83 calculator, a hobby that eventually merged with his love of cinema.
Whether through film or interactive entertainment, the goal remains to deliver compelling narratives and immersive worlds.