We could look at who created the file or what happens when Leo finds others who used it.
At first, there was nothing but static. He was about to close it when the static shifted. It became rhythmic. Crashing waves. A warm, tropical breeze whistling through a microphone. The distant, lazy squawk of a seagull. Island.Time.rar
He began to write. He wrote for what felt like days, filling pages with thoughts he never had the time to process in the frantic, buzzing world of the 21st century. He slept when he was tired, waking up to the exact same pale blue pre-dawn light streaming through his window. The pigeon was still there, a perfect gray statue in the sky. We could look at who created the file