A few years ago, Yuriy Nazarenko sat at a desk in his grandfather’s apartment in Ukraine and, on a diet of cigarettes, Lay’s chips, and beer, painstakingly made digital copies of fake identity documents. One of his four computer screens had the messaging app Telegram open. Another displayed a scan of a passport in Photoshop filling the entire monitor.

Pixel by pixel, with rap music blaring, Nazarenko edited each part of the passport. That included the MRZ codes, the block of text printed at the bottom of identity documents; the portraits to superimpose someone else’s face into the document; and the overall dimensions and quirks of each different type of passport. Nazarenko would sometimes sit for more than 12 hours at his computer, obsessively tinkering away, with a single, high-quality fake identity document taking up to a week of work.

When someone thinks of fake IDs, maybe they imagine a spotty underage teen buying a physical counterfeit driver’s license so they can score some beer. But in the global criminal underworld, digital copies or scans of IDs are like a skeleton key. A convincing scan of an ID or utility bill, loaded with a bogus name or someone else’s identity, can unlock the ability to make bank accounts, bypass checks on cryptocurrency exchanges to buy or sell more Bitcoin, or rent a safehouse, all while keeping the criminal’s real identity hidden. The digitally altered IDs need to fool both human reviewers and automated systems that scan them for inconsistencies. Making fake IDs requires exquisite attention to detail.

All of that manual labor doesn’t really scale, Nazarenko thought to himself as he meticulously edited passport after passport. He went on to make templates of fake identity documents that sped up the process, but it was still slow. 

After many of these nights, he had an idea. He built a website to automate the process that autopopulated a fake ID with the personal data a customer wanted, rather than having him do it by hand. Then, when generative AI became mainstream a short while later, he incorporated that too.

“That gradually became OnlyFake,” Nazarenko told me.

OnlyFake, the underground website Nazarenko made, landed like a bomb in the fraud world. It allowed anyone to generate not only convincing scans of driver’s licenses or passports, but also realistic looking photos of those fake identity documents laying on a sofa, carpet, or desk, as if someone had taken the ID out of their wallet and snapped a picture of it on their phone. Needed a convincing looking photo of a California driver’s license to open a cryptocurrency account in someone else’s name? Or a British passport to incorporate a company overseas? Or a Social Security card? No problem. The results were photos of identity documents that didn’t really exist, of people who may not be real, but yet could trick the sorts of people and companies that verify documents.

With OnlyFake, you didn’t have to be a master forger like Nazarenko to make fake documents. Now, anyone could churn out fake IDs at scale, sometimes even hundreds or thousands at a time. OnlyFake threatened the entire idea of know-your-customer, or KYC, where financial institutions take steps to know who exactly are using its services. When anyone can make a photo of a fake ID for just a few dollars in Bitcoin, is anyone really who they say they are?

Nazarenko didn’t know it then, hunched over his desk, but OnlyFake would soon become so influential that it would spawn copy cats, and the FBI would eventually hunt Nazarenko and shut down some of OnlyFake’s competitors. The Department of Justice said in an announcement about Nazarenko’s guilty plea that OnlyFake made more than a million dollars selling fake IDs which cost just $15 a pop.

Now for the first time, Nazarenko, 28, free after a year in prison and living in Asia, is telling his story: how North Korean fake IT workers used his creation, how he ended up in ICE detention after serving his sentence in the U.S., and how OnlyFake unleashed a new age of AI-powered fraud. Nazarenko said he wanted to talk to me because I was the first journalist to reveal that OnlyFake existed. This article is based on interviews with Nazarenko and his lawyer, court records, and my own reporting in the online world of fraud that OnlyFake inhabited.  

“OnlyFake was the first time I saw how quickly a small internet project could turn into something global. Unfortunately, it also taught me, in a very painful way, what can happen when the scale of something grows faster than your understanding of its consequences,” Nazarenko told me.

Growing up, Nazarenko’s parents questioned whether Nazarenko would ever find a job. His father worked for the Security Service of Ukraine. Raised in a suburb outside of Odesa, Nazarenko jumped between a few different gigs. He worked as a cook, a waiter, at a supermarket, and as a cameraman at a local Ukrainian TV station.

Andy Yen, the CEO of Proton, had a message for an employee in the company’s security Slack channel who urged the company to at least take a few days to pentest newly written code before pushing it live. “That’s bullshit and loser thinking. Of course it’s possible to be fast and secure,” Yen wrote in the channel at the end of August. “Stop thinking always of how to be slower, and focus more on how to be faster.”

In a follow-up message, Yen reiterated his point: “only losers think like that.” His ultimate message for the team was to “stop lovingly handcrafting all our code and use AI more.”

That exchange was just one of many that showed how Yen and other company executives are aggressively pushing Proton towards AI. Proton is a Swiss company that famously makes the encrypted email service Proton Mail and a suite of privacy and security-focused products, including an encrypted drive service, an authenticator app, a password manager, and more.

In the last few months, Yen set up an email address for employees to contact if they come across anything blocking adoption of AI at Proton, so leadership can “ruthlessly smash everything that stands in the way of AI velocity;” Proton installed software on workers’ computers that track how much AI code the company is generating; and Yen said this is the last year that Proton will hire engineers at all, and instead only hire people to build things with AI.

That AI push came to head this week when 404 Media reported Proton said it would re-interview staff about their use of AI, with the clear implication that those interviews, and employees’ willingness to embrace AI, could decide whether a worker is fired or not.

404 Media spoke to eight current and one former Proton employees and reviewed Slack chats, meeting recordings, and an AI manifesto written by the company’s CTO. Our reporting reveals a culture of fear inside Proton, where many employees are hesitant to even mildly critique Yen’s views or discuss engineering problems. Workers describe an environment where employees have genuine concerns about security or being asked to develop security products with AI, but feel unable to voice them, lest Yen berates them in front of everyone or threatens their employment at the company.

“The CEO is in full AI psychosis and has been for a while now,” one of the sources told 404 Media.

Our reporting also paints a picture of Proton that is likely very different to the public’s perception of a company with a goal of carefully protecting privacy: one that in reality is barreling ahead with AI as quickly as possible so it can achieve the explicit goal of more annual revenue.

“Due to insufficient velocity,” Proton is not on track to achieve its annual recurring revenue target by the end of the year, one internal document obtained by 404 Media reads. Proton’s year-over-year growth is also “far away from what the market today considers to be good,” and, “By all metrics that matter, we’re an underperforming company.”

In response to detailed questions from 404 Media, a Proton spokesperson did not dispute any of our reporting or characterization of what’s happening inside of the company. 

“It’s clear that some people at Proton are unhappy with our direction, or misunderstand it, and many people are anxious,” they said. “In our determination to move fast, we have sometimes been too blunt or too slow in explaining ourselves to our people. We will work on that, as their questions are the ones we most need to answer.”

Yen, a former CERN particle physicist, projects a measured approach in public, but internally he acts more like what one employee described as a “petulant child.” In May, Proton announced it was implementing post-quantum cryptography which should protect against future attacks from quantum computers. The work took years of effort, with one caveat that it would not work on older emails, only those written after the feature’s launch, at least for the moment. Yen was not happy that Proton was drawing attention to this limitation.