A fistful of teenaged mall employees hold a drunken after-hours orgy at the end of their shift, just days after the installation of three roving anti-theft robots on the premises. In a typical bit of B-movie magic, the control suite is struck by half a dozen bolts of lightning and the automatons begin indiscriminately slaughtering everything with two legs and a pulse. Did I mention this is a Roger Corman production? Mired in the trappings of every bad direct-to-video slasher to ever burst upon the scene in the 1980s, it's deliciously, laughably awful. Although they produce sounds on par with a blender set to puree every time they're on-screen, these bots are able to routinely sneak up on their unsuspecting prey throughout the film, slinking like cats through the night. They're far from intimidating, with bulky tank treads and tiny little T-Rex arms to spin and clap for no particular purpose, but I suppose the kids' fear of them is somewhat justified after seeing a friend's head turned to mash by a well-placed laser shot. These monsters prefer to do their killing with beams of searing pink light.