Next to the theatre and the regional parliament building, they look out of place.
The word "ukrytiye" is printed in red on the side of each one. It means "cover".
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They are bomb shelters, and there are hundreds all over the city. Supposedly, they're temporary, but two years after being installed, they feel increasingly permanent.
When the Kremlin launched its invasion of Ukraine four years ago, bomb shelters on home soil were definitely not part of the battle plans.
Nor were the barricades at Belgorod's bus stops. Nor the anti-drone nets draped over its schools and shopping centre. Nor the now frequent blackouts and power cuts.
But by exporting war, Russia also brought it home, and Belgorod has been on the frontline of Ukraine's retaliation.
At 25 miles (40km) from the border, it is the closest Russian city to the fighting.
We meet 80-year-old Lyudmila outside her apartment block on the outskirts of the city, a few hours after it has been hit by drones.
One crashed into her bedroom while she and her husband Vladimir were at home.
"It flew in through the window, hit the floor, exploded and then flew into the other room," she tells us, still in shock.
As we're looking up at the charred brickwork, an air raid siren sounds.
"Again," Lydumila sighs, before showing us inside to take shelter.
When the siren stops, we make our way up to her apartment, where I'm hit by a smell of burning as soon as the door opens.
There are cracks in the walls and scorch marks on the floor. The furniture inside has already been removed by emergency crews because there's nothing left to salvage.
The blast would almost certainly have killed the couple had they been in the same room.
"We are so tired, you cannot even imagine," she says.
"Lord, what did we do to deserve this? We lived in Ukraine, we were friends. And look at this, now we're fighting each other."
It is rare to hear people discuss the war so openly in Russia, where any criticism of it can land you behind bars.
But Belgorod isn't like other Russian cities. The war can feel distant and detached in other parts of the country, but not here.
There is a constant threat of attack, as we find out first-hand.
'Lucky escape'
We are on our way to the town of Shebekino, five miles (8km) from the Ukrainian border, when suddenly there's a loud bang.
"Stop!" one of the team yells. "Quick, get out!" Our vehicle has just been hit by a drone.
We jump out and race across the ice for cover behind the wall of a derelict factory.
We don't know where the drone came from. Our radar scanner didn't show any threats.
We believe it was a "sleeper" drone that had been lying in wait for a potential target.
For some reason, its pilot, operating the machine remotely via an onboard camera, chose our car.
Laden with explosives, kamikaze drones are designed to detonate on impact.
This one didn't. Instead, it lay smouldering in the road before the military arrived to take it away.
It was a very lucky escape and a terrifyingly close illustration of the everyday dangers for people in the region.
'Alone in our grief'
Like Moscow, Kyiv denies targeting civilians.
But as in Ukraine, civilians in Russia have been killed in the war too, albeit on a much smaller scale.
At least 440 people have died in the Belgorod region since the fighting began, according to the local authorities, compared to more than 15,000 the UN says have been killed in Ukraine.
Liza's mother, Viktoriya, died when Belgorod was shelled just over two years ago.
She had been out shopping with Liza, whose left leg was amputated after being hit by shrapnel. She was eight months old at the time.
"Those were very difficult days," says her uncle Dmitri, who stayed with Liza in hospital for several months and adopted her.
"She and I were left alone in our grief."
Dmitri was born in Belgorod, and that's where his whole family lives, including his mother and grandmother. That's why he's stayed. But it means life is essentially on hold - spent largely indoors and under cover.
"I wish there was peace, for children to live full lives," he tells me.
"Our children know what Vampire strikes are, what drones are, what an FPV [first-person-view] is. A child this age doesn't need to know this.
"There should be a childhood, and not this situation."
At an official level, Belgorod has embraced its role as a frontline city.
A local museum has put on a special exhibition called "Angels of Victory", which honours Belgorod's air defences.
Visitors are shown the remnants of Ukrainian missiles and drones that have been shot down.
There's no mention of why Belgorod has come under attack. No word on who started the war. The only message is that Russia is the victim.
It is the same with the bomb shelters. They've inspired a new line of souvenir keyrings. A sign of danger turned into a symbol of defiance.
'Together until victory'
There are many here who believe the narrative. At the local Communist Party offices, a group of elderly women are weaving camouflage nets that will be sent to Russian soldiers at the front.
"[The troops] are our protection, we are their protection. Together we are strong, together until victory," Olga tells me, under the watchful gaze of Joseph Stalin, whose giant portrait hangs on the wall.
The women say they have been making the nets every single day since the war started, and promise to continue until it ends.
"We have a lot of work to do," Raisa says, as an image of another icon of the Soviet Union, Vladimir Lenin, looms large behind her.
"We're just glad that we're so strong and not tired of anything. We just want peace and a real life."
While some have faith in Russia's path, it is clear there is also frustration here.
And it seems to be growing, the harder life gets.
Galina, 73, has been living by candlelight for the past five days, following a Ukrainian strike on the local power grid.
But who does she criticise? The local authorities, for not fixing the problem when they said they would.
"We understand the military situation, we understand, but you can't understand lies," she says.
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Thousands in Ukraine have been living without heating and electricity for several weeks during the winter because of Russia's targeting of energy infrastructure.
But now people here are experiencing that too, as temperatures outside hit -20C.
Tatyana has her hat and coat on as she shows us through the gloom into her apartment. She fears the blackouts will continue.
"It's been going on for a very long time, and it's like we're just licking our wounds, unable to recover quickly," she says.
And that's just it - no one knows when this will end.
For all the diplomacy, there are still no breakthroughs. Peace talks keep hitting a brick wall.
And even if Moscow does get the favourable end of any peace deal, many here may wonder whether it's all been worth it.
The cost of war for Russia has been laid bare - the losses, the sanctions, the isolation. But the benefits? After four years, they are still unclear.
