With his Marilyn Manson and Winnie the Pooh tattoos, Vitaly Bespalov appears an unlikely foot soldier for Vladimir Putin.

Yet for several months, the slight, 23-year-old with a mop of blonde hair was at the heart of Russia's information war on the West.

Vitaly was an employee of 55 Savushkina Street, the St Petersburg 'troll factory' now being scrutinized in the Senate intelligence committee's investigation on Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election.

From inside the unremarkable office building, Putin's cyber army deployed wave after wave of fake news articles and divisive social media posts. The highly-organized strategy is credited with playing a role in toppling Hillary Clinton's presidential bid and helping Donald Trump win the White House.

Vitaly revealed the secrets of life inside the troll factory in War in 140 Characters, a new book by journalist David Patrikarakos, obtained exclusively by DailyMail.com.

Vitaly Bespalov worked at the St Petersburg 'troll factory' now being scrutinized in the Senate intelligence committee's investigation on Russian interference in the 2016 US election

Vitaly studied journalism in his native Tyumen, a Siberian city rooted in the Soviet era, some 1600 miles from Moscow, but he dreamed of being a journalist in a large, cosmopolitan city. In March 2014, he began working at Nevia.ru, a politics-focused news site in St Petersburg.

Six months later, the website was shut down after funding, which came from an EU-based company, was cut off amid sanctions on Russia following its military occupation of Ukrainian territory that spring.

The 23-year-old was left floundering in an expensive city and bombarded every publication he could think of with his resume. After a month of hunting for work, Vitaly received a call asking him to come for an interview. He was given the address but the caller failed to mention the name of the company. He was also unable to remember which of his applications had led to the opportunity.

He arrived early the following day and waited in reception. The number of security personnel, dressed in military-style uniforms, was curiously high for a media business, Vitaly noted. Entering the building also required using a special security pass via a turnstile – another unusual occurrence.

As he waited, he witnessed a disturbing incident. A woman stormed pass him and out of the building, having apparently been asked for her passport information during her interview. 'I would never work as a lawyer in this shrashkina kontora [a swindler's outfit],' she yelled.

When it came to Vitaly's turn, he was interviewed by a woman of about 30, called Anna. She asked to see his portfolio and had him fill out a form with his address, passport information, phone number, previous places he had worked, his parents and brothers names and addresses. Anna explained that it was for 'security reasons'.

She explained that the job would entail rewriting news articles about Ukraine. Vitaly asked out right if he would be expected to write propaganda. He was told no, that the stories should be 'neutral'. Then came a test: Vitaly was asked to rewrite any news story about Ukraine which he found online and stick to the facts. The task was easy for a trained journalist.

The operation was carried out at 55 Savushkina Street, which was a dreary four-story building of concrete slabs and glass. Vitaly recalled the inside looking like a hospital with its corridors

Vitaly had been working as a journalist at Nevia.ru, a politics-focused news site in St Petersburg, in 2014 until funding was cut off after six months. He had handed out his resume to a number of media companies before he received a call asking him to come for an interview

With his Marilyn Manson and Winnie the Pooh tattoos, Vitaly appears an unlikely foot soldier for Putin, but he says he was at the heart of Russia's information war on the West

The pay was also far higher than average for such non-taxing work – 45,000 rubles (then around $900) a month.

He was told the next day that he was hired because the company's security service had approved his application.

Despite lingering doubts over the nature of the work, Vitaly arrived for his first day at 55 Savushkina Street, a dreary four-story building of concrete slabs and glass. He recalled that inside, the corridors were like a 'hospital: bleak and gloomy, with doors at regular intervals on each side'.

He worked in an open-plan room, which reminded him of an IT classroom in a Russian school. The walls were bare and the furnishings were the cheapest of the cheap. The computer work stations were angled so that everyone could see what you were writing at all times.

Once he was inside, Anna, who turned out to be his boss, explained he was on the 'Ukraine 2' project – writing articles for a site called worldukraine.com.ua. The .ua URL was used to mislead readers into thinking that the site was based in Ukraine and not Russia. The Russian location was hidden by proxy servers.

He was never told what he was doing or why, and Anna didn't appear to know either.

There was no training but Vitaly figured out his role relying on what he had learned at old job. He also found himself coming to the rescue of any clueless, new arrivals to the team.

The expectation was to rewrite 20 articles, of around 800 words, each day. Although he had been reassured that he wouldn't be expected to write anti-Ukraine propaganda, as he was seeing all over the Russian media including on state broadcaster RT, his suspicions remained. The pay was too good to be true for such basic work.

His bosses reinforced that the goal was to have the articles reach the top of Google searches and the Russian equivalent, Yandex. Social media was also extremely important and articles were aggressively promoted on platforms where they could gain the most traffic.

Vitaly says he worked in an open-plan room, which reminded him of an IT classroom. The computers were angled so that people could see what you were writing at all times

Memes were deployed as click bait, including one created after the sanctions on Russian portraying Putin knocking out Obama in a boxing ring

Vitaly also got a particularly good response from a two-panel meme he posted that included a photo of an angry-looking Obama saying 'We don't talk to terrorists' and a smiling photo of him with the caption 'We just finance them'

Vitaly followed the guidelines: the facts of the original article remained the same but chunks of text were rewritten. He was ordered to change words like 'terrorist' to 'militia' and instead of 'Ukrainian Army' write 'national guard'. Most crucially – Russia could not be criticized in any way.

The operation had four floors. Vitaly initially worked in the 'media holdings department', filled with dozens of people writing stories for a dozen Russian and fake Ukrainian websites.

On the second floor, a social media department came up with cartoons and memes to support Russian policy.

The third floor was reserved for bloggers writing fake blogs. They would pretend to be Ukrainians writing about how terrible their lives were and how they had no food, heating or electricity. The intent was to bolster the Russian campaign against Ukraine and make it appear in a positive light.

They would also blog in English, pretending to be Americans criticizing Obama over his Russia policy. They would create fake American blogs or take information from pro-Russia, English language websites and present those views as representative of the English-speaking world.

These blogs would then become 'sources' for the fake articles.

'It was a merry-go-round of lies,' Vitaly said.

The canteen was on the fourth floor along with workers whose only job was to post antagonizing comments on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube.

There was open, mutual dislike between the floors. Those on the first floor – who tended to be journalists fallen on hard times – looked down on the other staff. Some had only elementary school educations and were considered 'red necks'.

'We may be trolls but you are uneducated trolls was the feeling,' Vitaly said.

Hundreds of people are believed to have worked at 55 Savushkina The vast majority of employees were young and female, between the ages of 25 and 30 years old. A dress-code was non-existent – piercings, outrageous hairstyles and tattoos were typical.

After a few weeks at 55 Savushkina, the point of his job, and the company, was clear to Vitaly: to encourage ill will towards Ukraine and the U.S. and to fire people up with anger

Day to day, stress was minimal but strict time-keeping was a non-negotiable offense. Employees clocked in with an ID card at 9am - if you were late even by a minute, then you would be fined. An hour late and you would be sent home without pay.

From 9am until the half-hour lunch break at 1pm, Vitaly cranked out around 18 rewritten stories. He would do a few more until 2pm and then spend the rest of the working day, which ended at 5.30pm, surfing the Internet and chatting online with friends.

Vitaly made no secret that he hated the job in his personal social media posts. 'Look at the nonsense I am doing' he would type alongside a tweet of the article he had written.

He made a work friend, Evgenia, and the pair would take smoke breaks together. They found common ground complaining about the job and their colleagues. Evgenia worked on the 'Ukraine 1' team – rewriting news stories for Nahnews.org – supposedly a news site in the Ukrainian city of Kharkiv – but in reality right next door to Vitaly's office.

Vitaly revealed the secrets of life inside the troll factory in War in 140 Characters , a new book by journalist David Patrikarakos

Ukraine 1 was, without a doubt, pro-Russia and got more than 100,000 visitors a day compared to Ukraine 2's paltry few hundred. Evgenia revealed that Ukraine 1 operation was strictly controlled and editors pored over their work, giving constant critiques. The aim was to undermine the Ukrainian Army and boost the Russian-backed militia, she explained. If the Ukrainian Army said they had taken control of an area – nahnews.com would say it was lie.

Vitaly came to the conclusion that 'Ukraine 1' was a test to discern if he was loyal to the company, since his previous work had liberal leanings.

He came to learn that the owner of the operation was Yevgeny Prigozhin – a 55-year-old former convict and hot dog salesman, known as 'Putin's chef'.

Prigozhin is a member of the Kremlin's inner circle after striking up a friendship with the Russian leader in 2001 when Putin happened to dine at his modest restaurant in St Petersburg. Soon, he was in charge of organizing Putin's birthday parties.

Prigozhin once spent nine years in a Siberian prison on robbery and violence charges, but since his elevation to Putin confidant, has raked in $3 billion over the last five years in Kremlin contracts, including his covert IT work, respected anti-Putin campaigner Alexei Navalny, who runs an organisation called the Anti-Corruption Fund, told DailyMail.com earlier this month.

A CNN investigation revealed last month that the monthly budget for the St Petersburg operation in 2013 was around $1million.

After a few weeks at 55 Savushkina, the point of his job, and the company, was clear to Vitaly: to encourage ill will towards Ukraine and the U.S. and to fire people up with anger.

Vitaly's (above with a friend) success at work was measured in the number of visitors to the site. He says when he could no longer deny that he was troll, he started to rebel in the company

He described the troll farm as 'like he was in a reality show, controlled by external powers that tested just how long people could tolerate senseless work. He was also reminded of George Orwell's 1984.'

He bounced around several departments including social media. The work was mind-numbing – his sole task was to promote the fake websites on platforms.

Vitaly was given handfuls of SIM cards from which to register multiple accounts. He always pretended to be a woman, as the theory was those accounts would be deemed more trustworthy.

The fake news machine was creative: memes were deployed as click bait, particularly ones about leaders who were hostile to Russia's campaign on Ukraine – Obama, German chancellor Angela Merkel and Ukrainian politicians were all targeted. Mocking Putin was absolutely not allowed.

One particularly popular meme, created after the sanctions on Russian, portrayed Putin knocking out Obama in a boxing ring.

Vitaly also got a particularly good response from a two-panel meme he posted that included a photo of an angry-looking Obama saying 'We don't talk to terrorists' and a smiling photo of him with the caption 'We just sponsor them'.

Vitaly's success at work was measured in the number of visitors to the site – if he posted a link and traffic spiked, it was a good day at the office.

He fell into a routine, seeking out photos of Merkel and superimposing a Hitler moustache on her; placing Ukrainian male politicians' heads on women's bodies; making Ukrainian President Petro Poroshenko look like a pig.

After Vitaly quit the company at the end of 2014, he wrote an anonymous expose on the troll farm. He says an hour after it was published, his old boss sent him an abusive message and he began receiving threatening phone calls

Vitaly could no longer deny that he was troll and he started to rebel – sometimes he worked against the operation from the inside by deliberately not spreading the 'fake news' that he knew would be popular.

At the end of 2014, after three and a half months, he quit having developed problems with his nerves and an unshakeable feeling of being 'dirty'.

After he left the company, he contacted a reputable news organizations to see if they would be interested in an expose of the troll farm. He wrote an anonymous article, pretending to be a woman, which garnered a great deal of attention.

An hour after it was published, his old boss Anna sent him a long and abusive message, saying that he was 'a b****** who couldn't do anything for himself but only go behind people's backs and spoiled things for others'.

'You may think of yourself as a hero but in reality you're just a little son of a b****', Anna wrote.

Vitaly began to receive threatening phone calls, with male voices threatening violence, blocked numbers. He became afraid to walk alone.

He accepts that he was a troll in Putin's information war but warned: 'It's a kind of legalized corruption. And worst of all, I think the government believes it's a patriotic duty to set up initiatives like this.'

The Kremlin officially denies all knowledge of the troll factory and questions its existence.

Putin spokesman Dmitry Peskov has said: 'We know nothing about this agency and have never had any contacts with it… even if it exists indeed.'

War in 140 Characters by journalist David Patrikarakos is on sale from November 14.

David Patrikarakos is on Twitter, @dpatrikarakos