The military force invades and evacuates the island. The innocent are let free, the guilty are brought to Guantanamo to await justice, and the donkeys - or those who are partly donkey - are brought to secret military facilities to see what might be done to help their affliction.
You are privileged to see the end of Pleasure Island, if only from afar. From miles away, wearing heavily smoked goggles, you watch as a hellish glow and a mushroom cloud rises from the island. When the glow fades and the cloud dissipates, there is nothing left of Pleasure Island; there is only the peaceful roll of waves where an island used to be.
But such evil is not so easily neutralized, and the first news reports are not long in coming. Strange reports; reports of a new plague to infect the planet, as here and there, people are sprouting donkey ears and tails, their hands and feet are changing to hooves, and ultimately, are completely changed into donkeys.
It is with a sinking feeling that you realize that the evil that was Pleasure Island has been freed. The dust of Pleasure Island is scattered to the wind and what had been contained in one place has been loosed upon an unsuspecting world.
A new logo and theme music is quickly developed by the cable news channels as they report on this new threat to humanity. To their horror, they soon discover that not only are they reporting a story; they will soon be part of it as well. Day by day, the maps show the growing stain of contamination. Soon it is evident that the plague will spread to cover the entire planet, and human plans change from how to save humanity to how to accommodate the doomed and their inevitable fate. One of the first pieces of whatever progress is possible is when those with donkey ears and tails are not ostracized, but instead accepted as a part of the continuum that all will be passing through in tragically short order.
Ironically, there is a burst of crime when opportunists brave the infected areas to loot and pillage; the criminals are rewarded with goods that will soon be completely without value, and find that they have moved themselves to the head of the line of donkeys-to-be.
Simple humanity dictates that a human population completely changed to donkeys in an urban area must have some avenue of escape as the mechanisms of mankind grind slowly to a halt. The lights blink out as automatic mechanisms stop working. The foresight of man causes the nuclear plants to be closed down as best as possible. The bravery of those struggling with increasingly clumsy appendages to shut down man's creations would be an epic narrative - but there is no one left to record the tale, or for that matter, to appreciate the story.
Finally, it is done, and there is nothing left of humanity; only billions of donkeys hoping to continue to live however they can.