A Manhattan dawn crept into Sam's penthouse, the walls pulsating with the heartbeat of the city. The luxury of his living room was a sharp contrast to the charred remains etched in his memory. Stripped of his iron hide, he was just a man hunched over a bottle of whiskey, his new companion, the fiery liquid a twisted reminder of the previous night's inferno.

"Again, Artie." Sam croaked.

The AI complied, a hologram flickered into existence. The tenement building stood tall, its fiery death an eerie dance of light and shadow. The shield's collapse, the plummeting beam, the haunting screams - all looped in a punishing cycle of failure.

"Again," Sam demanded, his voice a mere whisper.

"Sam, you need--" Artie tried, but was swiftly cut off.

"Just do it, Artie."

And so, Artie did. The tragic symphony replayed, each frame a grim reminder of the steep cost of his hubris.

As the fire blazed on in the hologram, Artie's advanced machine learning algorithms kicked in. He analyzed the data from the disastrous rescue: body positions, sound frequencies, thermal fluctuations, the beam's falling speed - everything became a variable in his continuous learning process. This silent gathering of information, its subsequent analysis, and adaptation was just Artie doing what he was programmed to do: learn, evolve, improve.

Meanwhile, Sam's gaze never left the hologram, his eyes reflected the ghastly dance of the holographic flames. His hand, trembling, reached for the whiskey bottle. The liquid fire seared his throat, the burn a crude parody of the pain he'd caused.

"Artie, run a diagnostic."

"Diagnostics in progress, Sam. No physical damages detected. All systems operational. Emotional stress parameters, however, are off the charts. I advise rest."

Sam scoffed at that. "We're not done, Artie." He toasted his failure, the clink of the glass a hollow sound in the vast room.