It is the mid 19th century in a village not
far from St. Petersburg, Russia where a sideshow carnival has been set up. There are a number of tents displaying various
attractions: A man juggling fire in front of one, in another a large bear balances on
top of a ball. A detective from the St. Petersburg police
force has been led here in the course of his investigation into the disappearance of a
local chess prodigy’s twin daughters. He had heard a rumor that the girls may be
here and he could easily imagine a kidnapping victim forced to perform as part of this seedy
traveling circus. After passing by a contortionist and a man
throwing knives at a woman strapped to a board, he found what he had been looking for. A large tent with a hand painted sign reading
“The Samurai - See the Unbeatable Chess Automaton”
The detective had heard about these kinds of shows, and had even seen one himself. They would claim that their mechanical contraption
could somehow play chess and beat even the best grandmasters without any human assistance,
but the detective knew their secret. Inside was a person, cleverly hidden in such
a way that you’d have no idea from the outside. But there was always someone in there, pulling
on strings or levers to manipulate the machinery as the crowd looked on amazed at the feats
technology was capable of. And who better to hide inside one of these
charlatan boxes than a small girl who had already shown an incredible aptitude for chess? Two girls were even better than one, they
could work together or take turns playing in shifts. The detective had the feeling in his gut that
had yet to be wrong. The girls were in that machine. The detective enters the tent housing the
automaton but is stopped at the entrance and told that he has to pay if he wants to see. The smoky, lamplit tent is crowded with men
all huddled around something in the center. A burst of cheers come from the throng and
again the man demands payment for entrance, poking the detective in the chest, telling
him he has to pay or get out. The detective asks if he’s the owner of
the machine but the man says he’s just the exhibitor. He again stresses that the man has to pay
or he’ll be forced to leave, again punctuating his point with a stern poke to the chest. As the man pokes the detective again though,
the detective grabs his hand and twists his arm behind his back. He asks again who the owner of the machine
is but the exhibitor, through gritted teeth, tells him he really doesn’t know. He only communicates through letters and doesn’t
know the owner’s real name or even what he looks like. The detective shoves that man aside and heads
deeper into the tent. He enters the crowd of men, pushing them aside,
and finally sees what everyone has been so amazed by. There in the middle of the room is a chess
board on top of a steel table connected to a small steam engine. Sitting next to the table is a stationary
suit of Samurai armor, and across from that is a Russian man who appears to be deep in
thought. He is playing chess, and his game against
the Samurai does not look to be going well. The detective sees the man make his move,
and then, almost instantaneously, a piece moves by itself across the board in response. The man buries his head in his hands. Checkmate. The crowd erupts in cheers as the detective
makes his way to the table. The exhibitor is rushing towards him, trying
to stop the detective as he inspects the Samurai suit. The suit falls to the ground, it’s empty. The exhibitor is pulling on the detective,
pleading with him to leave. The detective knows the girls are in here
though. If not in the suit of armor, then under the
table itself. The detective grabs the chessboard and pulls. To his surprise it comes off easily. And underneath is… machinery. A complicated series of tubes, magnets, and
gears whir and hum with electric current. The detective can hardly comprehend what he’s
looking at until he spots it. There in the middle of the machinery are two
glass jars, connected to the rest of the device by wires. There’s a pink blob of organic material
in each jar. Brain matter. And they are labeled with the missing girls’
names. This is SCP-1875, also known as… the Antique
Chess Computer. SCP-1875 is a chess automaton from the Victorian
period that is made up of four main components. The first of which, SCP-1875-1, is a steel
table measuring 72 centimeters by 72 centimeters by 64 centimeters, with a standard eight by
eight chess board painted on top. Inside the steel box is a sophisticated piece
of machinery that combines mechanical and biological elements. The movement of the pieces comes by way of
magnets, with the moves themselves appearing to be decided by an analytical engine. Integrated into the analytical engine is brain
tissue from the twin fourteen year old daughters of a Russian chess prodigy who went missing
during the nineteenth century and were never found. The pieces, which have been designated SCP-1875-2,
form a standard 32 piece chess set and are carved in an oriental style. The pieces have magnetic bases, and the tops
have been identified as being carved human bone, and genetically matching the brain tissue
in the machine. SCP-1875-3 is a small steam engine with variable
speeds that is connected to the machine via a drive shaft. SCP-1875-4 is a suit of 18th century Gusoku
style Samurai armor. The armor appears to have no actual connection
to the machine, mechanical or otherwise, and it now seems as though the armor was merely
a prop. Though multiple Foundation researchers have
reported feeling a sense of unease and anxiety after making eye contact with the suit’s
mask. SCP-1875 continues to be fully operational
and even has adjustable difficulty levels depending on which speed the steam engine
is set to. To test the chess playing abilities of the
machine, a D-Class personnel was seated at the machine across from the samurai and moves
that were decided by chess software were broadcast into the room. Games were played on each of the machine’s
five settings and the chess software was used to measure SCP-1875’s estimated rating on
the Elo system, which is a method used to calculate the relative skill of players with
a higher number being better. At the first setting, the machine exhibited
a chess playing ability that would be rated in the 800 to 1000 range, which would be the
equivalent of someone who knew how to move the pieces correctly, but otherwise was laughably
bad. The second setting produced a result closer
to 1200, which would put it firmly in the “novice” category. The third setting improved the automaton’s
ability to anywhere between a 1200 and 2500 rating, which meant that it could perform
like an amateur all the way up to a master level. The fourth setting though was where the machine
became truly incredible, and operated above a 2500 Elo rating. At that level, it would play like a chess
grandmaster, and sometimes operated at a level higher than any human has ever been recorded. The fifth and final setting was baffling though. The machine would play erratically, sometimes
at a level even higher than that measured on the fourth setting, but then in the next
game would make nonsensical decisions or look like it was trying to lose, sometimes even
making moves that were illegal. Multiple games were played at this setting
and the amount of illogical moves only increased. The pieces began to move faster and faster,
and eventually they began to ram together until several were chipped. The testing was quickly halted after this
and further tests were suspended until a way to test without potentially damaging the pieces
was found. Following this bizarre result, something even
stranger happened. Five minutes after the test, an email was
received by all members of the SCP-1875 email distribution list. The message, which appeared to come from a
research analyst involved with 1875 research, consisted only of a single image, which has
been classified as it is suspected of having dangerous memetic properties. Multiple members of staff opened the email,
leading them to unintentionally view the attached image, and soon after reported numerous symptoms. They would immediately begin feeling anxiety,
followed by a headache and fever. Two hours after viewing the image they would
begin feeling restless, unable to sleep, and hear auditory hallucinations. After four hours visual hallucinations would
begin as well. After seven hours, while still awake, they’d
be exhibiting less and less response to stimuli. After eleven hours, there would be only brief
periods of lucidity during which the afflicted person would appear to recover completely
and immediately demand access to the computer on which they originally observed the image. After twelve hours… well, it only gets worse
from there. SCP-1875 has been classified as Euclid, and
the most important aspect of its containment is that it never comes within transmission
range of a wireless data network of any kind. To help ensure this, the anomaly is kept contained
within a Faraday cage at all times, and a network security expert is always on site. During testing, the steam engine’s speed
is only to be placed on one of the first four settings and never the fifth. This rule became necessary following a test
at the fifth level, after which a laptop computer was introduced into the faraday cage to see
if new research material would be transferred onto the computer similar to how the memetic
image appeared. It seems though, that the laptop used was
somehow infected, and spread its virus to the entirety of the site’s computer networks. All electronic communications with the facility
were strictly forbidden by the O5 Council itself, which shows just how dangerous this
could be. No electronic communications of any kind would
be allowed until it can be determined just how SCP-1875 is transmitting its extremely
dangerous memetic image and how it can be prevented. In the future, should any staff come unintentionally
view or open an email that contains шахматы.exe they are to immediately - Mmm... Ah. What happened? No I'm... I'm fine. Are we still recording? Yeah, no I can take it from - Now go and watch another entry from the files
of Dr. Bob, and make sure… Make sure you subscribe and turn on notifications,
so you don’t miss a single anomaly, as we delve further and further into the SCP Foundation’s
classified archives… I think I’m going to go lie down.
