Max Shreck had fallen.
He knew that much, he just didn't understand where he was. Or why. But wherever he was stank. Horribly. He looked around him. There were people. People in costumes. They reminded him of the people who had attacked Gotham Square that night. At that realization, Max recoiled in horror, trying to avoid their gaze. He noticed the penguins, swimming in the water before him. Then, he turned and set his eyes on what was likely the scariest thing about the place.
There was a man. A man of short stature, with balding hair. When the man turned, Max noticed his face. It was horribly disfigured beyond belief. Then, he noticed his hands. They weren't hands. In fact, they very closely resembled flippers.
"Hi," the short man finally said, before pulling out a large parasol from a large barrel full of them. Max blinked.
He had fallen alright. In fact, it was likely he had fallen and hurt his head. Badly.