The ground beneath Sam Grady's iron-clad feet sang with the melody of broken glass. The suit, a testament to human ingenuity and audacity, towered against the city's backdrop like a demigod. His heart rattled against the steel cage, wild, unbroken, while the stench of smoke and screams of the terrified filled his senses.

"Goddamn it," Sam rasped, his pulse pounding in time with the flickering streetlights. His voice reverberated within his helmet, a tinny echo that sounded more like a frightened kid than a hero.

"Artie, talk to me," he demanded, addressing the AI nestled within his suit's microprocessors.

"Multiple life forms detected. Combustion risk escalating. Immediate evacuation required," Artie replied, his voice untouched by the anxiety gnawing at Sam.

A hellish fire clung to the tenement building, clawing its way upwards, each flame a furious roar in the face of the night. The fire illuminated trapped figures, their pleas for help lost in the cacophony.

"Right, we've got this," Sam muttered, hoping to coax confidence into his veins. But the gaping chasm between simulations and reality yawned wide; synthetic flames were no match for this raging beast.

Propelled by his suit, he charged into the fiery maw. Inside was an inferno's belly, warped and distorted by the heat. His helmet's display flickered with dancing embers and terror-stricken faces, the echoes of his former life as a tech billionaire a cruel, cold contrast.

"Artie, where?" he wheezed, his lungs protesting the smoky intrusion.

"Third floor, northeast corner," Artie directed. Sam ascended, his boots pounding a relentless rhythm against the stairwell. Each gasp was a struggle, like inhaling barbed wire.

"Third floor," Sam choked out.

"Northeast," Artie responded. Sam veered right. His suit’s sensor array picked out the terrified family. Two adults. Two children. All potential headlines in tomorrow's news.

"Stand clear," he barked at them, lifting his gauntlet-clad hands. He engaged his force-field technology, designed to repel fire, to create a pocket of safety. "Artie..."

The AI complied, a translucent energy dome enveloped the family. Their wide-eyed looks were a blend of shock, relief, and something else. Fear?

Backtracking towards the exit, his plan was simple: lead them out. But then, Sam noticed a ceiling beam, weakened by the fire, about to plummet.

"Artie, maximum strength to arms," Sam commanded, rushing forward. His suit hummed with added power, preparing for the catch. But he'd miscalculated. Misjudged. As the beam fell, his suit’s strength couldn't compensate for the sheer weight and velocity. His arms buckled as power warnings screamed.

The family's screams pierced the roaring fire, their bodies swallowed in an infernal wave. Sam could only watch, trapped under the beam, as the energy dome failed and the fire feasted.

He didn't save them. He'd served them to the beast. He wasn't a savior; he was an executioner, doling out death in a suit of iron and ambition.

As consciousness slipped away, Sam heard Artie’s voice, "Error... Error... Recalibrating..." A grim sermon delivered in the chapel of burning ruins.

And the world around him raged on, indifferent to the fall of a would-be hero.