"Warriors! Come out and..." Uh, sorry, wrong movie. I could have sworn with this movie that I was watching some gang kids trying to get back to their home turf in the dark through a horde of strangely attired denizens of the night who want their heads on a stick. Wait, maybe I was, or something nearly identical.
Future-Kill is a low budget movie, the only one made by writer/director Ronald W. Moore (not to be confused with Ronald D. Moore of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and Battlestar Galactica fame). With the star power of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre cast members Edwin Neal and Marilyn Burns, they raised the money necessary to put the movie together. The end result is a rather campy homage/copy of 1979's Walter Hill classic The Warriors.
The movie opens in the near future (well, the future of 1985, which looks suspiciously like 1985 and a half). There is an argument between two strangely dressed men, one going by the name of Eddie Pain, the leader of an anti-nuclear movement called the Anti-Nuke Mutants, and another wearing a good deal of armor, including a face mask, called Splatter. It seems Splatter loves the splatter a little too much for peace-loving Eddie's sensitive nature. This scene goes a long way to setting up the darkness and low budgetness to come. However, it was not to last long.
The "good guys" are a bunch of frat boys who are being forced to apologize for a frat prank gone terribly awry. It doesn't take long before the problems escalate and the over-sexed, over-boozed boys of the school find themselves in a bit more trouble. The only way they can get out of their current predicament is to paint their faces, head to the bad side of town, and kidnap a Mutant. Unfortunately, they stumble upon another conversation between Eddie Pain and Splatter. The rash decision is made that Eddie is the guy they want. As the inept gang moves in, Splatter seizes the opportunity, kills Eddie Pain, and accuses the frat boys of the crime. From here, the chase is on, the boys are on the run to get away, and Splatter's boys are out for a little splash of the red stuff, preferably emanating from the accused.