MAUI’S GRAND PIX 500

Chapter 1: Combat Barbie

When you throw something hard enough, sometimes the universe throws back.

Moon-a-Largo’s stadium hovers over the first sunrise like a floating palace of 40 million crypto kiss-the-ring legal quid-pro-quo executive orders to go—buzzing with pre-race glam, cheering fans, and galaxy-wide streams. But behind the glitter? Families are vanishing.

 No warnings. No goodbyes. Just parents—gone.

And Maui? Oh, he noticed.

You don’t snatch people’s mums and dads and expect the universe to scroll past.

“Hey guys,” Maui called out. “Where’s that part for ol’ Harley? The race is starting soon.”

“Ask old Presidential-Orange and his side plate Unelected-Onion. They tariffed them off the planet and into orbit,” E-Go sighed. “Maybe we can use the spinner from the washing machine. Hang on one femtosecond, I know exactly where to get what we need, give me a sec….” A strange metallic clunking and knocking could be heard from the high security zap you zone. “Here—use this, E-Go said as he returned sweat pouring off his brow huffing and puffing.”

Just then a thunderous thrum bellowed across the universe as a plume of smoke rose in the distance.

“E-Go?”

“What? Old Orange wasn’t using it—he’s got thousands of coal-powered, planet-sized superhover yachts!” E-Go huffed.

Maui opened his mouth for a comeback—

But then—

The stars blinked.

Just for a second.

Long enough.

A ripple tore through the ether, too deep for sound, too fast for light.

Then came the dread.

Anger—raw, real—its fury a wall of glaring eyes and snarling teeth, contorted in a flaming hellscape of screaming color. Rage with gravity. Hate with heat.

And it was coming for him.

Not the crowd.

Not the racers.

Just him.

Something ancient. Something breached. It didn’t knock. It tore through.

Maui felt it—the wrath of Judgement Day trolling through the cosmos, stalking with slow, deliberate hate.

Maui knew its name—

And it knew him.

Pain was coming.

But who would be torment’s master?

He collapsed, writhing in excruciating pain as the heat seared through his inkless skin. His ancient tattoos gone.

Then, a flicker.

A femtosecond later

The world returned and so did his tatts.

He staggered back up.

The sounds of race fever echoed around him like nothing had happened—cheering, engines, the roar of star-fueled speed.

But something had happened.

Maui instinctively knew—his day had just changed.

And this time, he wasn’t just in the race.

He was the reason it started.

Snapping back into Maui mode…

He smirked.

Meanwhile on the other side of the cosmic divide, Taylor screamed, throwing her emojicon flexi commando Barbie at the wall. “I’m tired! I’m hungry!” She hurled a dented panel across the room. “Why does this crap always happen to me?” She kicked at her makeshift wooden seat, catching her dad’s old toolbox and sending tools scattering across the floor. “Ooch!” she yelped, biting her lip as a rogue wrench nailed her shin. Under her breath, she muttered a string of curses her dad would’ve fake-grounded her for. “I didn’t start this stupid tariff war that orange dickhead and his paleface onion did!”

The Barbie bounced back, whacking her in the noggin. “Ouch!” she muttered, rubbing her head. “Of course it would hit me back. Crap always does…” She paused, breathing heavily, her chest heaving with frustration. “Why me?”

That Barbie, her old reliable—used to teleport you where you needed to go, now she’d need to sneak in and use the museum’s old Apple from ancient times. Because now, thanks to the idiot tariff war, she couldn’t get the parts to fix it, couldn’t even cross dimensions anymore. Broke, just like everything else. The impact of the throw sent the barbie’s command sequencing haywire, a surge of distorted signals rippling through the room. A faint, shimmering distortion appeared near the wall, a near-portal crossover flickering into existence. Taylor blinked, startled. “What the…?”

A soft knock echoed through the workshop, followed by the sound of something sliding under the door. Taylor frowned, wiping tears from her eyes. “What the heck now?” She picked up the envelope, her fingers trembling as she tore it open. As she read the contents, her eyes widened, and the envelope slipped from her grasp. She sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face. Then, a moment later, a triumphant scream ripped through the silence. “YES!”

She sprang to her feet, her heart pounding. “Crap, what am I going to wear?” She paced the room, her eyes darting between her meager wardrobe and the scattered tools. “I can’t miss this. I’ve only got one shot!” Her gaze fell on the wall separating her workshop from her neighbor’s apartment. “Should I borrow that nice blouse from Miss Philomena’s clothing line next door? No, no, no! I’ll ask…maybe I can…I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Miss Philomena, with her impeccable style and warm smile, always seemed to have the perfect outfit for any occasion. Taylor took a deep breath and knocked on the dividing wall, hoping her neighbor was home.”

Now not too far from Taylor, just two twists and a half turn of a galactic dimension… a whole lot of cool Maui stuff was about to go down.

The flags curved and bent, whipped by the cosmic winds, as the starting lights flickered and danced. Faces, big and small, blue and yellow, eager for the start, shouted with their eyes. Racers, get ready! It was the annual Demigod Indie 500. As the start lights flickered up and down, suddenly a streak of green refracted out the edge of his raybans, E-Go shot off in a blaze of fire. Maui reached out, pulling him back.

“Dude, chill. You ego, me Maui. PLAY IT COOL.” E-Go, Maui’s counterbalance, shuffled his egotistical leg, shaking, ready for the win. “It’s okay, dude…” His Ray-Bans gleamed with the glare of the starting lights, the swirling energy reflecting off their lenses, as the hydrogen combustion engine hummed, almost as if it had a hidden passenger, its growl a feral anthem of speed and power. He glanced at the stadium, his Ray-Bans switching to ‘cool-as-mode’ as he shot his trademark wink. The announcer’s voice boomed, “There’s the smile we’ve been waiting for!”

As the checkered flag dropped and the field left Maui with a smirk, he tilted the handlebars just enough to catch the perfect holo-selfie angle. “Wow, talk about backblast! Now that, folks, is what you call a shooting star!” he quipped. He paused, mid-race, for a handful of quick holos with admirers, because what was a victory without the fans to immortalize it?

And hey when Bruizin Bernie, Kick-Ass-Kinzinger, AtomicAOC, and Rep TKO-Jasmine turn up, you don’t just cruise on by… me demigod, but they’re real! as Maui’s super-selfie fingers went into “I’ve gotta get that perfect me and AOC, TKO, Kinz, and BB selfie. And don’t forget me!” E-Go’s moon-sized grin lit the background for that perfect shot, popping into focus as the clicks clicked.

Then, something shifted. A flicker, a distortion in the air ahead. The race commentator’s voice, usually a smooth, professional drone, cracked with disbelief. “Maui, wait… what just happened? Oh My God!!! I DON’T BELIEVE IT…!”

“Nope Dude, that’s Demi…God” …Maui shouted out, as he peered up into the sky, gesturing to the Big Boss up there. Maui then curled his fingers downwards, towards himself, and winked… me Demi..!

Half a cosmos away, Miss Philomena sighed. “Where is it?” she said, her voice a squeak. “I’m sure I hung it out before I left. Why are the pegs still there, but it’s gone? And why are the pegs near her side of the balcony?” She had plans for tonight, plans she couldn’t afford to miss. “Gezz!” she said, growing more frustrated with every thought of who likely took it. “My lucky blouse, and I don’t have another in that color. Think, think, what can I do? I can’t cancel; I need the exposure.”

Philomena stood silent, a tear rolling down her cheek. How could she just take it? I hate her! she thought.

“Philomena,” her grandmother said excitedly. At 160 years and still counting, she had every right to be excited. “Not now, Grandma. I need to get that placement. We can’t afford to lose it, not with those stupid tariffs making life worse for us. That stupid orange and onion,” she said angrily. “I need to find another outfit to wear.”

“Are you and the wall going to the ball?” her grandma asked.

“Sorry, Grandma, what are you talking about? The wall and the ball?”

“The wall, dear child, your magic wall. It spoke to me. I wasn’t surprised it seemed to have so many problems. It was crying.”

“Grandma?”

“Yes, child,” she replied in the sweetest 160-year-old voice you have ever heard. “Grandma, the wall, what did it say?”

“Actually, my sweet child, it asked ever so politely if it could borrow your nice shirt. It was so sincere, I felt ever so sad when it told me it hadn’t eaten for over a week… apparently, it was going to a job interview. Fancy that.

I am so sorry, my sweet, sweet child, if I did something wrong… but hungry for a week—it wouldn’t take the food I offered; it was just a solid wall. But how it would fit your shirt… it must be magic. You still love me, Phili…” her grandma said softly.

“And I didn’t want to see all the food I made go to waste, so I gave it to the young lady next door… she was so happy. Plus, I saw she was my size—back when I was a young 101—so I told her to take whatever she wanted from my closet. You should have seen her, her eyes lit up…Gosh she fell in love with my biker  bandanas and ragtag baseball caps. You know my sweety, I felt like a mum again.”

Tilting her head ever so slightly she looked at Phili and asked with that energetic 160 year old grandma’s voice of hers, whatever happened to that wall. Do you know sweety? I haven’t heard from it since.

Oh, and by the way, my sweet, sweet child—I hung your shirt in your closet.

It just felt nice… being needed again.”

Back through the cosmic divide, the crowd’s cheers turned to a confused murmur. Maui’s grin faltered. What was going on? the commentator hurled out. “Wait, no, no it can’t be… where’s the rule book? Ladies and demigods… Maui gets a 5-second penalty… selfies in mid-cornering is a Maui-buster!”

Revving the Harley with a roar, Maui’s longboard frame flared with molten light, the bike responding like it, too, wanted to bask in the adulation. He kicked into high gear, streaking across the finish line with honors, a trail of burning brilliance marking his path.

“Alright,” Maui said, patting the handlebars, trying to ignore the commentator’s outburst. “I hear you guys. You’re itching to show off, aren’t you? “Fine, go on then. Additron Command Commando—transform!” Maui shouted, the words barely out of his mouth when the Harley began to shudder. Chrome rippled, lights flickered, and a puff of purple smoke billowed from the engine, smelling faintly of burnt marshmallows.

“Dudes, with everything in the cosmos you can transform into, you picked nuclear missiles? Okay, who’s been watching Fox News again? I told you all, no late-night horrors, guys! Black holes, supernovas… really?” Maui quipped, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “This is the Indie 500, you know, 499, then 500—not the White House front lawn ‘no one wants to buy them anymore’ car sales yard! You guys are so… so yesterday!”

And just like a YouTube pop-up in your face, “You better go premium ad!”The bike gave a final, violent lurch, and a holographic wrench appeared briefly above the engine, then vanished as the legendary Nukutaimemeha Maui’s Longboard in Arms appeared. But something felt off, like cosmic fake news off. Like eggs are $25 for a pack of 6 wrong. That’s when it hit him. E-Go unexpectedly got zapped by an outerplanetary gamma ray laser cannon blast. Talk about weird.

“You okay, dude? You look a bit radioactive over tanned. Suits you,” Maui chuckled. “Here, put this over it.” Maui gave him an “I’m a Maui super fan” plaster. Glaring back, E-Go said, “Green on the edges, toast on the side. I think the Hulk has the copyright, Mr. Demigod… besides, it must have been meant for only one.” E-Go’s glare beamed at Maui like a neon bullseye on a galactic dartboard, ready for a barrage of Martian get some payback.

Humor aside, it left Maui with butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Must have been a lot of them; that’s a lot of free space. Maui called out, “I heard that… Hey 3rd POV, yes you! The omniscient one! Me demigod! And you, omniscient. He squinted one eye and zoomed in with the other, like he was honing out the doofus who started the idiotic tariff war! He chuckled as he rode off in that cool as, Maui I’ve got you covered style.

“Ouch… what was that?” Smoke rose from E-Go’s gluteus maximus. Maui frowned.

“I guess it’s over when…”

As E-Go chimed in..When they stop shooting at you and hitting me.”

Least you’re smoking… Maui chuckled caringly. Come on bro let’s go get some.

“Ice cream…E-Go said, sporting the biggest grin since the crowning of orange and unelected onion.'”

“I was going to say douchebags, but hey…double whopper triple vanilla 7 scoopers… you’re on!” Dimensions apart, the noise faded as E-Go and Maui cruised on. For Taylor, there was no nebulae sunrise, only the gnawing question: would she ever get her family back alive.

Life is raw and real.

The Oligarchy took her dad.

Maui stepped in like he always does—loud, wild, unstoppable.

But even demigods bruise.

And Taylor? She’s not a kid anymore.

She’s sharp now. Tired.

Starting to ask questions no one’s ready to answer.

Will Maui still take the hits…when the next one comes from her?

Find out in Galactic Chaos — Asteroid Showdown & Maui’s Mirror of Doom.

And hey—want to share in the Maui magic?

Then extend your finger… yes, that one…

Now hover it over the Maui magic subscribe button… and hit it hard ping ping ping….Congratulations…you’re a winner.

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