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 charge on pig‑back while firing machine guns, culminating in a nightmarish vision of colossal, Cthulhu‑like tentacles. One element that didn’t make the final edit, however, was the infamous "snake gun," a weapon that originated from a simple suggestion by a team member’s child. Joe Dietsch, the CEO and creative director of Wolf Haus Games, recounted the moment: “A kid asked if we could make a gun that shoots snakes.
Because we had a modular weapon system, I was able to prototype it in about thirty minutes. The kid was thrilled, and the snake gun stayed in the game.” That anecdote captures the chaotic, improvisational spirit that defines Join Us. The title is an open‑world sandbox survival experience where players can recruit followers—or invite friends in co‑op mode—to join a 1970s‑style cult. The game’s design philosophy is heavily rooted in technology, allowing a small, highly skilled team to produce a high‑fidelity title that would normally require a much larger studio.
Michael Abbott, Wolf Haus’s chief operating officer, summed up their ambition: “We set out to be disruptors. Everyone told us you needed a hundred people; we proved they were wrong with just twelve.” The team’s confidence stems from a history of achieving big results on modest budgets. Many of the founders came from indie filmmaking, where they learned to “punch above their weight.” After 80 pitches, they finally secured equity funding from Krafton and Lifelike Capital, both of which took a stake in Wolf Haus.
The founders’ Hollywood pedigree runs deep. Dietsch studied film at Chapman University alongside Louie Gibson, son of actor Mel Gibson, and the two later co‑wrote and co‑directed the indie films Happy Hunting and Manifest West. Abbott is the son of veteran makeup artist Larry Abbott and helped launch Ascendant Pictures, a production company founded by Chris Roberts before his transition to the Star Citizen universe.
Abbott later produced movies such as Fight for ’84, starring Jamie Foxx. Join Us began as a personal experiment for Dietsch in Unreal Engine. “I discovered Unreal was free to download and started tinkering after watching YouTube tutorials,” he explained.
Although he had never built a game before, he quickly put together a few small prototypes. The concept that kept pulling him back was a doomsday cult simulator—a blend of survival mechanics and grindhouse cinema that merged his passions for movies and games into a single intellectual property. He built a proof‑of‑concept demo, expecting to hit a technical wall at some point. When he showed the demo to Abbott, the latter recognized its potential and presented it to Dooma, a publishing partner.
Dooma’s CFO and narrative director, Dooma Wendschuh, had previously worked as a producer and screenwriter in film before moving into games in the early 2000s. He founded Sekretagent Productions, providing narrative services for titles such as Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, Assassin’s Creed, and Batman: Arkham Origins.
Later, Wendschuh launched several tech ventures, including the cannabis formulation company Ebbu, which sold for roughly C$430 million (US$330 million). After selling Ebbu, 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, changed his plans. "He sent me a video of Joe’s game and it blew my mind," Wendschuh recalled. He then introduced the project to Reid Schneider, a former Warner Bros.
Games vice‑president now heading Raccoon Logic, the studio behind Journey to the Savage Planet. Schneider joined as a strategic advisor and recruited Pierre‑Olivier Chartrand, an ex‑Ubisoft Montreal programmer, to serve as chief technology officer.
With the core team assembled, the next hurdle was financing, which proved difficult during a market downturn in mid‑2023. Initial pitches generated interest but not commitment. The studio eventually partnered with Creative Artists Agency (CAA) in Los Angeles, which helped refine their pitch and secure a seed round from Lifelike Capital and Krafton in 2024.
Wendschuh noted that CAA’s representation—also handling titles like 007: First Light—combined with veteran advisors such as Schneider and Chartrand, gave investors confidence. Despite the high ambitions, Wolf Haus has remained a lean operation of just thirteen full‑time staff. Dietsch emphasized that the small size was intentional: “We wanted a team where everyone has a voice, everyone touches the creative process, and the final product feels like it was made by a tight‑knit group.” To make a large, open‑world game feasible with such a modest headcount, the studio invested heavily in custom tooling from day one. "Every system must be scalable and debuggable by a single person," Dietsch said.
"We built a toolkit that lets us expand features across a massive map without the project collapsing under its own weight." The funding structure further enabled this tool‑centric approach. Krafton and Lifelike’s equity investment allowed Wolf Haus to self‑fund development, using the capital to build the necessary infrastructure rather than relying on external deadlines. "Equity partners want the studio to increase its enterprise value, so they support our philosophy of building tools to solve problems," Wendschuh explained. "It may slow development in the short term, but it lets a tiny team create a game of this scale." When asked about the role of generative AI, Dietsch gave a clear answer: 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 said. Wendschuh added that the only AI they employ are mundane productivity tools for scheduling and email, not for art, design, or narrative. Interestingly, Krafton—publicly positioning itself as an "AI‑first" company—specifically required that Wolf Haus not rely on generative AI for the game’s creation.
This mirrors a similar stance taken by Neon Giant, another Krafton‑owned studio, which publicly denied using AI in its pipelines. The commitment to handcrafted content extends to the game's world and audio. The six‑kilometer‑square map is entirely hand‑modeled, and the 15,000 voice lines were recorded by human actors, not synthetic voices.
Dietsch believes that preserving this artisanal approach is vital, even for an indie title. Dietsch also reflected on the differences between film and games. In cinema, an idea can take years to materialize, requiring approvals, casting, and studio green‑lights.
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 observed that film production is heavily front‑loaded, with intense, high‑cost phases before any footage is shot. While anyone can technically shoot a low‑budget movie, breaking through without star power or distribution is rare. Games, however, have fewer gatekeepers; a small team can reach a global audience without A‑list talent.
This democratization, according to both men, is why they chose interactive media as their primary storytelling vehicle. Both founders trace their love of creation back to childhood. Dietsch recalled wanting to make either movies or games at six years old, a decision that ultimately hinged on whether he received a camera for Christmas. He taught himself programming on a TI‑83 calculator, laying the groundwork for his dual passion.
"Whether you’re making a film or a game, you’re delivering an experience, telling a story, and engaging an audience," he concluded, underscoring the shared creative impulse that drives both mediums.