Tails Noir: Words

My first hour with Tails Noir felt like sliding into a warm bath of everything I love about the genre: wet streets, oppressive fonts marking each chapter, a jazz singer performing inside a smoky club while Howard Lotor, raccoon and down-on-his-luck private eye, tries to talk his way past a bear bouncer who won't let raccoons through the door. The class system baked into this dystopian Vancouver is communicated in a single exchange, and the pixel art doing it is jaw-dropping. High-resolution sprites layered over 3D volumetric fog, dynamic neon reflections on rain-slicked pavement, parallax scrolling that makes every side-scroll feel cinematic. EggNut, a small Canadian studio that sadly closed in 2024, put their craft into every pixel of this world and it shows. The soundtrack deserves its own sentence. Composer Danshin and vocalist Arooj Aftab built what the developers called a doom jazz score, blending brass, deep strings, brushed drums, and electronic textures into something that lingers well after the credits. It is the kind of music I ended up listening to outside the game. When a four-to-five-hour experience leaves you with a playlist addition, the soundscape is doing something right. Here is where I have to be honest, because the game's mixed Steam reception (around 65 percent positive across over fourteen hundred reviews) deserves an explanation rather than a dodge. Tails Noir is almost entirely a linear visual novel wearing adventure game clothes. There is one proper puzzle in the prologue, a handful of basic crouch-stealth moments in The Bite nightclub sequence, and a few object-inspection screens. The dialogue choices are real and Howard's snarky responses are genuinely fun to pick through, but they shape tone and unlock small character details rather than alter plot trajectory in any meaningful way. Players who arrived expecting point-and-click investigation mechanics found something closer to a curated walk. The frustration is fair. What makes it sting more is that the first two acts build a conspiracy involving ruling-class Apes, systemic racism against raccoon "stripers," and a society on the edge of something. Then the third act pivots into a surreal, almost sci-fi register that several reviewers described as a genre shift mid-sentence, and the story closes without resolving the threads it spent hours setting up. I still think it is worth your time, with caveats clearly marked. The world-building that does exist, the glimpses of Gastown and Granville rendered in anthropomorphic detail, the supporting cast Howard meets in bars and back rooms, the moment the jazz singer performs and you can simply stand there and listen, these things are constructed with genuine intention. The writing in the first two-thirds is moody and sharp, and Howard himself, a cynical archetype who keeps bumping against a society that sees him as vermin, carries real thematic weight. The ending is bleak in a way that feels deliberate rather than lazy, even if it leaves more questions than a four-hour game can comfortably carry. Think of it less as a detective game with a conclusion and more as a mood piece with a character study at its center, one made by a studio that cared about craft and ran out of runway before the full story could be told. Kai, Scout Team

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