Chess is a fascinating game, isn't it? Easy to learn, deeper than most think, and wrapped in mystery. Oh no, I can't tell you anything about the rice grains. Even with the Foundation's resources, no one here knows for sure if that story is true. But even chess can't escape certain... situations, anomalies. I imagine you remember certain chess machines. You know, "The Turk" and other cheap tricks to impress people. The problem is that some of those machines don't use tricks... but something worse.
The Foundation found it in the '90s, gathering dust in an abandoned laboratory, beneath what had been the home of a university professor in England. The details, like the professor's name and exact location, were classified, which seems a bit strange... but it's not the first time, and it won't be the last.
The main piece was designated SCP-1875-1, and as you can see in the image, it's a table with an axle on one side and a standard chessboard on top, made of English steel. The steel is ancient, from the 19th century. The patina analysis suggests a 19th-century date, though those are approximate. The second element, SCP-1875-2, is the complete set of chess pieces, carved following an old oriental style. The pieces are made of human bone, and each one has a small metal base.
The third component is a stationary steam engine by Maudslay, Sons & Field. The machine serves as a power source and connects to the axle of SCP-1875-1. It also received some modifications, mainly a speed control with five positions identified using Roman numerals. The last piece is a samurai armor, Gusoku style. Apparently, the armor was seated and placed facing the table to convey the illusion that they played chess against it. A rather astute decision... considering what the table hides.
When Foundation technicians opened it, they found a matrix of electromagnets connected to a biomechanical system. The tissue is cerebral... and it comes from two different humans. Someone integrated it into the system so it could control the pieces using the electromagnets under each square. The technicians already have an idea or two about the mechanical aspect, but the biological part remains a mystery. We only know that genetic samples from the brain tissue and the bone of the pieces match perfectly.
The Foundation contacted a representative of the professor who had owned the property, and he shared some details about the machine's origin. The most interesting find among the professor's belongings was an old clipping from a Russian newspaper that spoke of the disappearance of the twin daughters of a local chess champion. The girls were only 14 years old when they were kidnapped, and they were never found. The authorities never identified the culprit. Perhaps it was more than one... we'll never know.
The machine made several public appearances as "The Samurai", quite an attraction for its time. Its last event occurred in San Francisco in early April 1906. The owner ended up dead due to the earthquake that that same month destroyed 80 percent of the city, and somehow it ended up in England.
Obviously, the Foundation didn't think twice. It connected all the elements, sat a Class D in front of the Samurai, and started a series of five games. Speed "I" reproduces the ability of a beginner, with an Elo between 800 and 1,000. In contrast, speed "IV" exceeds an Elo of 2,500. But the problems began when using the maximum speed, "V". The machine started to make absurd and illogical moves. Several illegal moves forced the restart of the games, and the speed of the pieces' movement increased to such a point that the machine crashed them into each other, causing damage to the set.
The Foundation thought it had neutralized the situation by turning off the machine, but five minutes later, all team members involved with SCP-1875 received an email. It contained a very strange attachment, over 17 megabytes, with the name "шахматы". The body of the email also included a black and white image. All memetic alerts went off.
The simple act of seeing that photograph causes anxiety, headaches, insomnia, acoustic and visual hallucinations. Seven hours after exposure, the affected person stops responding to external stimuli. At eleven hours, they seem to regain lucidity, only to request access to a computer that has displayed the image. After twelve hours, self-mutilation begins... and the rest.
The Foundation established that SCP-1875 must be separated from any wireless data network, isolated in a Faraday cage, and contained with strictly mechanical locks. The containment team includes two computer security experts and a psychologist... specialized in children. I only hope that's enough, and that image never leaks...
d0 b2 d1 8b d0 bf d1 83 d1 81 d0 ba d0 b2 d1 8b d0 bf d1 83 d1 81 d0 ba d0 b2 d1 8b d0 bf d1 83 d1 81 d0 ba d0 b2 d1 8b d0 bf d1 83 d1 81 d0 ba d0 b2 d1 8b d0 bf d1 83 d1 81 d0 ba d0 b2 d1 8b d0 bf d1 83 d1 81 d0 ba
