<div class="floatleft">(http://i1264.photobucket.com/albums/jj499/MzHyde/Warehouse1_zps031116d9.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Current F-Team Hideout</strong><br/><strong>Somewhere In New California</strong><br/><br/>'This place is a dump' is what most people thought upon seeing the exterior of the warehouse the F-Team called home. It was in the oldest part of town and was indeed the oldest building in the oldest part of town. A warehouse from ages long past when humans used to actually manually pick up boxes and carry them places to be stored. Even amongst warehouses it was a relic. The block it stood on had long since been demolished, leaving it the only building standing and the only access to it a shabby dirt road wedged between only slightly more modern buildings that had sprouted up around it.<br/><br/>Inside, however, was a different story. The outside was just a front to hide the more modern stylings that sat inside the three level warehouse turned home. The entire bottom floor of the warehouse had been cleared, turned into a garage where the team could store and maintain their vehicles. It was big enough to accomidate multiple cars and bikes, as well as the custom made armored transport they rode into 'hot zones'.  A small workshop was set up on one part of the ground floor to the west. To the east, a small lounge area with couch, chair, and TV set. On the north side, a small kitchen area.<br/><br/>The open layout continued upwards. A single staircase spiraled upwards to the second floor where rooms were arranged around the sides of the warehouse, leaving the center of the floor open so one could peer down onto the lower floor. Squad member rooms were here, each decorated in the taste of the particular member that occupied it. Walls were fairly thin here, so any 'activities' that might take place could be heard by adjoining rooms. Not a place for the shy to get frisky. The warehouse only sported a single bathroom and, while it did have a full bath and shower, there was some jostling for use of it during the mornings - unless one wanted to share.  Share they did.<br/><br/>Up to the next floor, the design closed off. The entire space was in use. Up here was the domain of tactical planning, equipment maintenance, and other things the team were forced to classify as 'work'. A large communications room took up one side of the third floor, the domain of Kate and Kate, the two rather gorgeous girls who manned the radio at seemingly all hours. The two were almost always working and had become something like mascots for the team. They arranged jobs and were often the first point of contact for clients. Not only that, they tended to the well-endowed futa girls' 'needs' from time to time. Though the boss lady herself wasn't shy about keeping her girls happy, either. In any case, once jobs were taken the action typically moved to a room that was half conference room, half lounge.<br/><br/><br/>The meeting room was at odds with itself. At one end of it, a whiteboard and markers for planning, chairs set up in front of it. At the other end, a ping-pong table, couch, and TV with entertainment center. It was like someone had begun the operation with serious tactical planning in mind, then gave up and said 'fuck it, I want to play ping-pong'. Probably Kat.<br/><br/>The final bit of the third floor was occupied by another large room, one dedicated to holding weapons, ammunition, explosives, and other tools of the trade. All locked safely away behind a heavy steel cage, only the boss lady and the Kates had the code to open it up. As much to prevent theft as it was to prevent girls from going on drunken benders.