Woman's deepfake betrayal by close friend: 'Every moment turned into porn'

Warning: Contains offensive language and descriptions of sexual violence

It was a warm February night when an ominous message popped into Hannah Grundy's inbox in Sydney.

"I will just keep emailing because I think this is worthy of your attention," the anonymous sender wrote.

Inside was a link, and a warning in bold: "[This] contains disturbing material."

She hesitated for a moment, fearing it was a scam.

The reality was so much worse. The link contained pages and pages of fake pornography featuring Hannah, alongside detailed rape fantasies and violent threats.

"You're tied up in them," she recalls. "You look afraid. You've got tears in your eyes. You're in a cage."

Written in kitschy word art on some images was Hannah's full name. Her Instagram handle was posted, as was the suburb she lived in. She would later learn her phone number had also been given out.

That email kicked off a saga Hannah likens to a movie. She was left to become her own detective, uncovering a sickening betrayal by someone close to her, and building a case which changed her life - and Australian legal standards.

The web page was called "The Destruction of Hannah", and at the top of it was a poll where hundreds of people had voted on the vicious ways they wanted to abuse her.

Below was a thread of more than 600 vile photos, with Hannah's face stitched on to them. Buried in between them were chilling threats.

"I'm closing in on this slut," the main poster said.

"I want to hide in her house and wait until she is alone, grab her from behind and... feel her struggle."

It's been three years now, but the 35-year-old school teacher has no trouble recalling the "pure shock" that coursed through when she and partner Kris Ventura, 33, opened the page.

"You immediately feel unsafe," Hannah tells me, eyes wide as she grips a mug of peppermint tea in her living room.

Clicking through the website Kris had also found photos of their close friends, along with images depicting at least 60 other women, many also from Sydney.

The couple quickly realised the pictures used to create the deepfakes were from the women's private social media s. And the penny dropped: this was someone they all knew.

Desperate to find out who, Hannah and Kris spent hours at the kitchen table, identifying the women, searching their social media friends lists for a common link, and methodically building a dossier of evidence.

Within four hours, they had a list of three potential suspects.

On it, but immediately discounted, was their close friend from university Andrew Hayler. The trio had met while working at a campus bar, and the staff there quickly formed deep friendships.

And Andy, as they called him - the supervisor - was the glue of the group.

He was considerate and affable, Hannah says - the kind of guy who looked out for women in the bar and made sure his female friends got home safely after a night out.

They all hung out regularly, went on holidays together, loved and trusted each other.

"I thought of him as a very close friend," Hannah says.

"We were just so sure that he was a good person."

But soon they'd whittled down the list to just one name: his.

When Hannah woke the next morning and went to the police station, mingling with her shock and horror was a "naive" sliver of optimism.

"We thought they'd go grab him that afternoon," Kris says with a wry smile.

Instead, Hannah says she was met with disdain.

She recalls one New South Wales Police officer asking what she'd done to Andy. At one stage they suggested Hannah simply ask him to stop. Later, they pointed to a picture of her in a skimpy outfit and said "you look cute in this one", she says.

New South Wales Police declined to comment to the BBC on the specifics of Hannah's case.

But she says the way her complaint was handled made her feel like she was making "a big deal out of nothing".

"And for me, it felt quite life-changing," says Hannah.

Any faith she still held that police would help quickly dwindled.

Amid delays, she turned to Australia's eSafety Commissioner, but under its powers as a regulatory body it could only offer help in taking the content down.

Desperate, the couple hired a lawyer and commissioned a digital forensics analyst to move things along.

In the meantime, to avoid tipping Andy off and to keep themselves safe, they retreated inwards.

"The world for you just gets smaller. You don't speak to people. You don't really go out," Hannah says.

Intense fear and loneliness filled the void instead.

"We'd already had to suspend complete belief to understand that he'd done these things, so [the idea of] him actually coming to try and rape you or hurt you isn't that much of a bigger stretch."

The couple installed cameras all around their house and set up location tracking on Hannah's devices. She began wearing a health watch 24/7, so someone would know if her heartbeat rose - or ceased.

"I stopped having the windows open because I was scared... maybe someone would come in," Hannah explains.

"We slept with a knife in both of our bedside tables because we just thought: 'What if":[]}