In Kharkiv, Ukraine, where the war has had unimaginable consequences for a country of 44 million people, here is the story of a soldier who went through alone in a particular place, a place that was bombed three times.
This month, the experience of a citizen-turned-soldier, Supeka, standing guard at a regional administrative building in the northeastern city of Kharkov is extraordinary, but almost unremarkable against the surreal context of the war.
As Russian troops train battlefield weapons in towns across Ukraine, both combatants and non-combatants find themselves able to endure close-quarters confrontations with heavy weapons designed to crush military targets and large infrastructure.
Some survived, many did not. "We want to defend our country after every explosion," said Supeka, 53, a portrait photographer before the war.
What he sees every day now is a disfigured picture of a pampered city. According to the mayor of Kharkiv, Ukraine's second-largest city, more than 600 buildings had been destroyed in the city as of mid-March, and hundreds more since then.
Every day, relentless rockets, missiles and shells take place in the city of 1.4 million people. At the district administration building, Supeca, who was sent to help guard, is now in ruins and is a huge Stalinist building that sits on Liberty Square, the largest public square in the country.
The square was once named after Felix Zelzinski, the founder of the Bolshevik secret police, but was renamed by Ukraine, now a sovereign state, after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.
For many, less than a week after the start of the war on February 24, the attack on the iconic square in Kharkiv's densely populated city center marked a crossing of the border: a clear signal that in this war nothing is unrestricted, no homes or hospitals, no schools and shops, no cafes and parks.
On March 1, Supeka was on the fifth floor before a missile hit the administration building. The explosion is powerful. He was dizzy and tried to go downstairs. When he did, he realized he didn't know how to lose his shoes.
"There was so much glass, so much smoke, so much dust, you couldn't see it," he recalled the most recent day as a sandbag guard in front of the building. "So much blood, on the floor, on the wall, in the victim's face."
He said the second blast occurred 5 to 10 minutes later, when he and others were trying to provide assistance to those injured in the first blast. Civilians and soldiers were involved in the effort, he said, although they knew another explosion could happen at any moment.
"I was helping the victims downstairs and into the backyard and into the ambulance, and people were helping the wounded, rescuing the dead, packing up their belongings." He said.
A few weeks later, the entire interior of the building still looks like a rickety fireball. At the southern end of the building, all the floors collapsed into the basement, and firefighters used makeshift planks to try to navigate between the once separate rooms.
The day after the double attack, Supeleka returned to his post, despite suffering a concussion and minor injuries, helping to clear the rubble. The second bombardment took place on March 3, the day after that, and struck the courtyard behind the building.
His memory of the explosion was even more confused. Later, he suddenly realized that he was holding a piece of paper in his hand, but he couldn't remember where he went or what he had done before.
"I didn't understand why I was holding this document, and later, my friend told me that I was with him when the explosion happened." The first thing he remembered was not to be afraid.
"I feel angry, all those who are alive and those who are injured feel the same anger and the determination to protect Ukraine, without fear."
After the third strike, he returned to his post again. "Because this is my country. This is my city. My family lives in this town and I don't understand what I can do if I don't join the army. What must I do if the war starts in my country? He said.
After the last attack, Supeka began to have recurring nightmares. "When I go to bed at night, I can see it again," he said. In the courtyard of the building where the third explosion took place, there was still a huge crater, but the debris had been pushed aside and piled up neatly. He doesn't know how the war will end, but Supeka said he believes his countrymen have shown their courage to the world.
"We haven't had a war for a long time, we're a peaceful country, but if someone attacks us, as recent events have shown, we'll unite to fight back." He said.