Junktown

Late in the game, a colorless land in play is often the least useful permanent you own, and this one is built to cash out exactly that dead weight. The tap-for- baseline lets it earn its keep as an honest land drop, but the sacrifice clause is the whole reason it exists: five mana plus the land itself, converted into three Junk tokens that each exile off the top and grant a one-turn license to play what they hit. The value it generates is not classic card advantage; it is a delayed, sorcery-locked burst of impulse draw, three staggered shots of top-deck acceleration that arrive precisely when the mana it consumes is otherwise doing nothing. Timing is the whole discipline. Each token exiles and grants play-this-turn permission only as a sorcery, so the payoff must be aimed at a turn where you can actually deploy whatever comes up, and greed is punished by asking you to commit both the mana and a permanent to a gamble on your top three cards. It rewards decks willing to treat their manabase as fuel rather than something to protect once it has done its job. And it wears the salvage-and-scrap identity to the point of literalism: a place you strip for parts once you have wrung everything else out of it.