A small vessel drifted across the bottomless blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
Unlike most ships sailing through deep-sea regions, it was neither a fishing boat nor an oil tanker or cargo ship, but an ordinary yacht, roughly thirty meters long and six or seven meters wide.
Though it was merely an inconspicuous little thing in the yacht world, which was known for luxury and extravagance, and was as common as dirt in the ports of major cities like New York and Miami.
Its price was still far beyond what ordinary people could afford, making it an undeniable luxury item.
Those willing to spend a fortune on one were usually either billionaires or people whose incomes were at least ten or even dozens of times higher than the American middle-class standard.
Yet the owner of this boat was not one of those wealthy people.
On the contrary, he was just a very ordinary New York resident.
The reason he had been willing to sell his house, buy this yacht, and take his wife and children out to sea to make a living was entirely because the alien army invasion during the Battle of New York had terrified him.
In this middle-aged man's eyes, anyone living in a major city would sooner or later be killed by some terrifying disaster falling from the sky, so he had come out to sea to become a fisherman.
Although a modified yacht alone could not catch much fish, it was barely enough to keep them alive.
As usual, the man stood on the aft deck, casting a large fishing net over the sea and hoping to catch more fish today.
But just as he lowered his head and got busy, he suddenly heard his youngest daughter let out a piercing scream nearby.
"Ah! Dad,