Three generations of Mykhailo's family have worked at the same Ukrainian power plant -- a vast facility that was virtually obliterated in just a few minutes by Russian ballistic missiles in a recent strike.
"You open the door to the turbine hall. The roof is gone. Everything's on fire," the machinist, who has worked there for 24 years told AFP, recalling the attack.
"It brought me to tears. I know what it all looked like when everything was intact. Everything was lit up. Everything painted. Everything working. We were producing electricity," he said.
Both of Mykhailo's parents and his grandparents worked at the plant, starting when it was built by the Soviet Union following the end of World War II.
Now a twisted carcass of metal and concrete lay at the foot of the towering smokestacks.
Ragged strips of aluminium hung from torn-open structures, while stray dogs roamed through blackened pipes and mounds of rubble.
Where the missile hit, there is a gaping impact crater, exposing the underground bunkers.
"It was the worst of all the attacks" the facility has suffered since Russia invaded in 2022, the plant's director said.
AFP was given access to the site -- classified as strategic critical infrastructure -- on condition of not revealing its location.
Russia has targeted Ukraine's energy grid extensively throughout the almost five-year war, plunging millions into darkness and cold for days on end.
Ukraine fears this winter could be the worst yet, in a campaign Kyiv says is designed to demoralise Ukrainians and sap their commitment to keep fighting off the Russian invasion.
Power company DTEK recorded 78 attacks against energy infrastructure in just three days last week.
"We will likely not be able to resume operations before spring 2027," the director, who spoke on condition of anonymity, told AFP.
Repair teams are still trying to reach the core of the structure. In a scene that resembles a post-apocalyptic film set, hundreds of men and women in white helmets clear away the debris.
Mykola, head of the turbine department, was starting his shift in the control room when the attack happened.
He rarely takes shelter, despite knowing the facility is a major target.
"Someone has to manage the emergency power units," he told AFP.
"I'm a patriot of my station. I grew up here. It fed me. This is my second home," he said.
He has worked there for 37 years.
Maria, a 36-year-old crane operator, also has no plans to leave.
"I got my children to safety abroad," she told AFP.
"I can find another job, but I love this place and I'm interested in this place, in the people."
Beyond its vital role supplying energy to hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians, the Soviet-era site is a pillar of social and economic life in the region -- especially the dedicated town for workers that sits next door.
Built to house employees and their families, the town boasts brick apartment blocks surrounded by gardens and playgrounds, a palace of culture named "Energetik", a hospital, cinema, schools and nurseries.
"People all know each other, everyone works in energy ... that's why people put their soul into it," said the director.
But under a fine icy rain, the streets looked almost deserted -- a sign many had already fled the constant bombing and power cuts.
Alongside roads and across facades, skinny silver heating pipes snake through the town.
Like the huge power lines overhead, they are but a reminder of an era, before Russia invaded, when energy was plentiful.
"There is no city without this structure," said Lidiya, a 72-year-old flower seller, referring to the power plant.
"It gives us heat, water, electricity, everything," she said.
Lyudmila, a pensioner who was resting on some steps, described the endless toll of nights under barrage.
"We're freezing, we put on clothes and lie down to sleep."
Among the smouldering ruins of the power plant, Mykhailo forced himself to believe it will come back.
"No one is giving up here. It's their job. They come in, support each other. Day after day, bit by bit, we're going to repair it."
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