Looking at the apartment, you might think someone had built it with the express purpose of converting it into a runner safe house. In fact, it wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened.
The small space (just slightly bigger than last night's back room of Leverage) is situated in a regular apartment complex in Auburn. The building's filled with the usual yelling of blue-collar workers and children, many of whom belong to the Goblinized portion of the population. Inside the apartment, however, it's dead silent. Someone obviously went to a lot of trouble soundproofing the safehouse. In some places the insulation's showing. Apart from the door (the hallway's covered in retrofitted sensors, of course), there's another exit: the only window is large enough for a troll to fit through, and the fire escape, an old, rusty thing, is right outside.
The apartment itself is sparsely furnished, each room clearly set up for function rather than comfort. The walls are unpainted, and the fluorescent lights are exposed, casting an almost uncomfortably bright glow over the entire apartment. It ain't pretty, but it makes sense: you're here to work.