Places like this were Peter's fears made manifest. A lone Vampire was a terrible enemy. Dozens of Vampires, Werewolves, some particularly degenerate humans, and worse horrors were suicide given shape. Given one day in charge of Britain's armed forces, and he'd have dropped a nuke on it without a second thought.
Too bad nobody was asking him.
He headed out to the van and sat down, cradling his shotgun and loading up his Dragon's Breath. Jericho for the Humans, Revolver for the Werewolves, and Shotgun for the Vampires. It was like a second birthday for him.