McCain is just there to plug himself, speeching, "Much of my work is about the possibility of alien life. Of course, that's fiction. But the truth is we're all aliens in our own way. Especially in high school." At which point he should be pulling down a chart with the word "allegory" stamped across it in bold fucking letters as the entire assumed subtext of this entire stupid series crawls into a dark corner where no one can hear it die. But the speech is soon to be drowned out by an authoritative military voice (I know, I know. I'm just as surprised as you are) demanding, "This is Viceroy. All shooters report in, please." Three bull-eyes zero in on each of Max, Isabel, and Liz, and Viceroy demands, "Do not fire until the rest of the unit has arrived." That Viceroy. Always the cooler head prevailing. That's how he's earned such ambiguous military success and the ability to say things like "I lost some good men" or "This is Viceroy" without ever really having to do any actual work. The targets are all in the clear. Pull the trigger. Give the order, Viceroy. Do it. DO IT! Cut to a long line of cars riding through the Roswell night (does anyone graduate from public high school at night? I really am curious), on their way to be Viceroy's back-up. That's a call you don't turn down, people. The cars drive right past Michael on his hog. He takes that "The Lovers" tarot card out of his pocket -- oh my God, I can't believe that was the same episode -- and steams back toward Roswell. The card drops faux-artily behind him onto the dirt. Now the fortuneteller has no "Lovers" card.
Okay, this speech sucks. Max looks back at Liz one more time, and finally stands up and makes his way down his aisle. He marches right up to the podium and whispers to McBain (or whatever), "You need to leave the building right now. It's for your own safety." Ruzzah ruzzah rhubarb peas and carrots from the audience. McBain resists at first, until Max runs a hand over the author's speech, changing the words from "boring boring boring rant rant blee" to the declarative "LEAVE NOW FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY" in Times New Roman 72. Dude, even the PA who made that sign didn't change from the default. Maybe because they were carting all of his computer equipment away as he was trying to print out something a bit more foreboding. Like adding a clip-art bald guy with an axe in his head or something. But McBain is convinced, and he slinks off the podium like he just peed himself. Max is alone. Murmur ruzzah Ruzzah ruzzah carrots! Max has the floor: "My name is Max Evans. I though I'd take this opportunity to say a few things on behalf of myself and the graduating class." The lights shut off all at once. Gasp! Ruzzah ruzzah is that that freak who's never at school ruzzah my mom said he was a student when she was in high school here too ruzzah ruzzah ruzzah. All targets have lost contact with their targets. A single light illuminates Max as the aliens and the accomplices escape into the darkness. Isabel has a quick goodbye with her parents and her husband and sneaks off. Max tells us that it's been "a long, hard road," but he's just filibustering action we can only see in the dark anyway, so we have nothing aural or visual to grab onto as the adroit production values that have kept this show on top keep us limping toward the ever-clearer finish line.